


An Imperfect Canvas

by iamremy



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, also ridiculous codenames, oneshots, team friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:19:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 118,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/iamremy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of oneshots, ordered chronologically, in the lives of William Brandt and Ethan Hunt.</p><p>~</p><p><strong>Ch. 19 summary-</strong><br/>Endings aren't always sad and painful and filled with loss. But they're not always perfect either. Sometimes they just <em>are</em>, and sometimes that's more than enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Brandt Nearly Causes Ethan to Lose His Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, then. This is my first MI4 fic, as well as my first Ethan/Will, so feedback is greatly appreciated :)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~This pairing is taking over my life I swear.~~

**The One Where Brandt Nearly Causes Ethan to Lose His Hand**

Consciousness doesn't come slowly, the way most people think it does. It comes all in a jolt, one that has Ethan Hunt opening his eyes with a large, gasping intake of breath, and attempting to sit up.

 _Attempt_ being the keyword in the sentence. As soon as he comes to, he finds himself being pushed back down, a warm, strong hand on his chest and another on his hand. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus, and when they do he finds himself looking up at a smiling Jane. “How are you?” she asks, and Ethan realizes she was the one who pushed him back down.

“I'm okay,” he tells her. “No pain, though that's probably the morphine.” She nods, and he goes on, “So, how long have I been out?”

“Three and a half days,” she answers. “We've been taking shifts staying with you. Benji left half an hour ago.”

“How are you guys?” asks Ethan.

“We're doing fine,” Jane tells him with another smile. “Better than you, anyway.”

He chuckles, then winces as his ribs protest. “And Brandt? Where's Brandt?”

Instead of answering, Jane just nods towards Ethan's side. He follows her gaze to find William Brandt asleep in a chair, with his head and arms resting on the bed near Ethan's arm. He looks absolutely exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and the lines on his face standing out more prominently than usual. “How long has he been here?” asks Ethan, and his voice is surprisingly soft.

“As long as you,” answers Jane. “He threw up a storm when they brought you in, demanding to be allowed to stay. They had to give in eventually, mainly because he began threatening them. He's only ever left the room to go to the bathroom or eat. We tried to convince him to go home and rest, but he just refused.” Her gaze softens. “I think he blames himself, for you getting hurt.”

“That doesn't make sense,” says Ethan, perplexed. “He couldn't have prevented what happened in any way.”

“I know,” replies Jane. “But he's not listening when I tell him so. Benji says he's a stubborn bastard.” The corner of her mouth quirks into half a smile. “I'm inclined to agree.”

“So he hasn't left? _At all_?” asks Ethan, just to clarify.

Jane nods. “Not once.”

Ethan frowns. “I'm going to have words with him when he wakes. When did he fall asleep?”

“I don't know. He was already asleep when I came in. He's exhausted, you know. And HQ keeps calling him, trying to get him to fly down and get back to work. I don't know how he's managed to hold them off for this long.”

“Ignoring them, I imagine,” snorts Ethan, and then winces again. “Has HQ contacted you?”

She nods. “Yeah. Once you're discharged we're supposed to fly down and submit a full report.”

“Funny how they're back up at once, now that it comes to paperwork,” grumbles Ethan. “That didn't take too long, did it?”

“They're still working on getting everything back the way it was,” Jane tells him. Before she can go on, however, Brandt stirs and wakes.

“Hello,” says Ethan pleasantly enough, but Brandt's face goes white. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” mumbles Brandt. “You?”

“I'm fine too,” Ethan answers. “Would you mind telling me why you haven't gone home and rested, Brandt?”

“You know, I'd love to,” says Brandt, clearly dodging the question. “Just after I come back from the bathroom.” He leaves like the hounds of hell are on his heels.

“What's with him?” asks Ethan, nodding at the door.

“I don't know,” replies Jane, equally as nonplussed. “He's... sorta not okay?” It comes out as a question.

Ethan nods, and settles back into the pillows as a nurse enters and goes about her duty of asking questions, making sure he's comfortable, and summarizing the extent of his injuries. Soon after a doctor comes, does exactly the same things, and it's only after two hours that Ethan is allowed to rest, once the medical staff is satisfied.

Brandt hasn't returned.

* * *

 

He doesn't come back until later in the evening, when Jane and Benji are both there. Ethan gets the feeling that he wants to avoid being alone with him, and while he knows the reason, he's not going to bring it up until Brandt does. Some things are better left quiet for a while.

Croatia has taken its toll on Brandt, Ethan knows. It's obvious in the way he won't look Ethan in the eye, or make more than polite, forced conversation with him. It's obvious in how he jokes around with Benji and talks to Jane but does it all half-heartedly. And the cherry on top is when Brandt makes an excuse and leaves just fifteen minutes after he came, saying he needs to go take care of some things.

Ethan doesn't ask, and he doesn't comment, but he also doesn't miss the way Jane's eyebrows draw together in concern, and Benji looks away with what seems to be guilt. He knows, then, about Croatia, and Ethan figures Jane probably does too. And just like him, they're not bringing it up. It's definitely an ugly can of worms.

* * *

 

He's discharged from hospital a few days later, and he's planning on tracking Brandt down and making him explain, he really is, but he's immediately swept up in a wave of calls from HQ and demands of paperwork and reports and meetings. In fact, he doesn't see Brandt at all until their shared flight back to DC.

They've got the center row, the four of them, with Jane and Ethan in the aisle seats and the other two in the middle, Benji next to Jane and Brandt next to Ethan. Ethan notices how Brandt tries to switch with Benji and Jane, but they both refuse and in the end he's forced to give in and sit next to Ethan.

This is going to be a long flight.

Jane settles down with a book once the plane is in the air, and Benji takes out his laptop, but Brandt tosses and turns in his seat in an attempt to sleep. Ethan watches as he wraps himself in a standard airline blanket and tries to force himself to relax, but it's clearly not working. He wants to intervene but he reminds himself it's not really his business, and so he settles for watching a movie on the inflight entertainment system.

He really does try to focus, but it's hard because next to him Brandt just won't relax and sit still – he's muttering curses under his breath now and practically writhing in his seat. Finally, somewhat irritated but also fascinated, Ethan pauses his movie and says mildly, “Counting sheep helps.”

Brandt stops and stares at him. “Sorry, what?”

Ethan chuckles. “Counting sheep helps, when you can't sleep.” Brandt still looks confused, so Ethan goes on, “That's what you're trying to do, right? Sleep?”

Brandt nods, somewhat suspiciously. Ethan almost smiles before he remembers that Brandt can probably strangle him right there and make it look like an accident. He's seen what the man is capable of and he doesn't want to be on the wrong side of that.

There is a heavy pause, and then Brandt says, “I've counted 1503 sheep already.”

Ethan has no idea what to say to that. If he's counted 1503 sheep and _still_ can't sleep then Ethan doubts there's much he can do other than knocking him out or drugging him – both of which Brandt will probably murder him for once he regains consciousness. Finally, Ethan says, “Okay, then. Try something else.”

“Helpful,” mutters Brandt sarcastically, but closes his eyes and tries to settle down anyway.

Fifteen minutes later Brandt has finally stopped moving and is stuck in some parody of sleep, one where he stirs and shuffles and his clothing makes irritating noises against the material of the seat, and Ethan tries to ignore him until his head is about to explode. He tries, he really does, but when the scraping of his clothes against the seat gets loud enough to be heard even over his movie, Ethan gives up.

“For the love of God,” he mumbles, reaching out to shove Brandt. It doesn't go exactly as planned, though, because the minute his fingers touch Brandt's shoulder Brandt shoots up and before Ethan even knows what's going on, Brandt's got his fingers in a painfully tight hold.

“What are you doing?” hisses Ethan, trying (and failing) to release his fingers.

“I could ask you the same thing,” retorts Brandt. Jane and Benji are deliberately ignoring the going-ons in the seats next to theirs, and Ethan kind of hates them for it. His hand is beginning to throb.

“You were being annoying,” he huffs, and almost winces at how childish he sounds.

Brandt raises an eyebrow. “I was _asleep_ ,” he points out.

“That's not what it looked like,” Ethan tells him, again trying (and again failing) to get his hand back.

“I don't care what it looked like,” Brandt replies, his eyebrows furrowing. “Don't attack me in my sleep.”

“I wasn't _attacking_ ,” defends Ethan. “I was _trying_ to get you to shut up.”

“Once again, I was _asleep_ ,” repeats Brandt, and damn but his anger is making Ethan feel like an idiot. Now that he's awake, Ethan's excuses don't seem that sound. That, and he thinks if Brandt doesn't let go soon he'll have to have that hand amputated, which really isn't good for his career as an IMF agent.

“Whatever, I'm sorry,” he finally bites out, hating the words as they leave his mouth. Ethan Hunt does not simply _apologize_ , but really, he's attached to that hand. It's his dominant hand. He _needs_ it.

Brandt just nods and relaxes again. “Can I have my hand back?” asks Ethan, resolving to get Brandt back for this, once his hand can function again.

Brandt snorts and releases Ethan's hand, and with a grateful sigh he begins massaging it with his other hand. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jane trying to suppress a smile, and he makes a mental note to get back at her too. Maybe at the same time as he gets back at Brandt. Five seconds later he adds Benji to his list when the techie begins grinning.

He is halfway through his revenge plan (doesn't matter that he probably won't carry it out; it helps pass the time) when Brandt once again begins to move in his sleep, or whatever it is, and Ethan groans mentally. This is getting old. He knows better than to “attack” Brandt though (his hand still hurts), so he opts for lightly laying the same hand on Brandt's shoulder.

Either he's a really nice, considerate guy, or a really big fucking idiot. He just doesn't learn.

He's fully expecting Brandt to snap his fingers this time, but it doesn't happen. Surprised (and not a little apprehensive), he looks down to see Brandt somehow fully relaxed, sleeping soundly and not moving _at all._

Huh.

How'd that happen?

Was it his hand that did it?

To test his theory, Ethan retracts the aforementioned hand. Brandt tenses, begins to stir. Ethan puts it back on Brandt's shoulder. The analyst relaxes. Ethan raises an eyebrow, does the whole thing over again. This time, Jane finally puts her book down and says, “Stop it.”

He raises both eyebrows at her. “Stop what?” Without realizing he takes his hand off Brandt.

“That,” she says, gesturing with her book, as Brandt's entire body tenses. “Stop _experimenting_ , or whatever it is you're doing. Let him sleep.”

“I'm not doing anything,” Ethan defends himself, but if Jane's expression is anything to go by, she doesn't believe him.

“Honestly, it's like seeing someone kick a puppy. _Stop it_.”

Ethan is beginning to worry that the volume of Jane's angry whispering is going to wake Brandt, and this time he's likely to lose more than just his hand. So he hurriedly puts it back on Brandt, even patting him on the shoulder a little. It has absolutely nothing to do with the kicked puppy thing.

 _Absolutely nothing_ , and if Ethan hears otherwise he will commit murder.

Jane just shakes her head and goes back to her book. Ethan wonders what's up with her, before turning his head to scrutinize Brandt some more.

The man is fucking _curled in his seat_ , looking for all the world like he's on holiday. Ethan hasn't seen him this relaxed since – well, since he woke up in the hospital, and that's not saying much because even then Brandt was wound up tight. Absently he wonders why exactly it's his touch that is helping Brandt sleep, when it's the same hand he nearly ripped off a while back. Maybe it's a subconscious thing.

He adds it to the list of things he's not going to bring up until Brandt does.

* * *

 

Ethan is in favor of waking Brandt up the moment the flight touches down, but Jane says to let him sleep a little because it's going to take some time before they have to get out, and Brandt needs all the sleep he can get. That he hasn't been resting due to Ethan's hospitalization goes unsaid, and once again Ethan wonders why the hell Brandt didn't find himself a bed and get some sleep. He looked, and still does, like hell warmed over. And that's not a good look for him. Or anyone, really.

Somewhere in the middle of the flight, somehow, Ethan's hand has found its way to Brandt's forehead, and it rests there as Brandt sleeps away peacefully with his head lolling sideways. Ethan wishes he can say it's painful to keep his hand in position for so long, or uncomfortable, or awkward – hell, _anything_ – but it's really not. And that surprises him, because he never expected to be okay with this. And he never expected _Brandt_ to be okay with it, either.

The world is a strange place.

The plane has just come to a stop and people are beginning to get up, and Ethan decides it's okay to wake Brandt now. He removes his hand from Brandt's forehead and gently shakes him, and says, trying to keep his voice soft and non-threatening, “Wake up, Brandt. Time to get off the plane.”

Instead of instantly waking and attacking like Ethan expects, Brandt mumbles, “Five more minutes.”

“I – okay,” sighs Ethan. In any case they're going to get off the plane last, to avoid the hassle of dealing with impatient passengers. Jane is still reading and Benji is humming some song under his breath, laptop stowed away.

Except that when it is time to leave Brandt still refuses to wake up, and Ethan has to resort to poking him in the side. That _does_ elicit a reaction, and Ethan ends up with a sprained wrist. “God _damn_ it, Brandt!” he gasps, cradling his hand.

“Sorry,” says Brandt somewhat apologetically, once he realizes what he's done. “I thought you were attacking me again.”

“I was _trying_ to wake you up,” Ethan tells him through gritted teeth.

“I'm sorry,” Brandt says, and he _does_ look sorry. “It's not going to happen again... I hope,” he adds as an afterthought.

Ethan rolls his eyes, and Jane laughs. She is quickly making her way up his shit list. So in Benji.

Will is right there on Numero Uno. Ethan's not sure he can ever use his hands again.

They make their way through the airport in silence. No one says anything right until the end. Benji and Jane say their goodbyes and leave in the first cab they find, which leaves Ethan alone with Brandt.

To say this is awkward is an understatement.

“So,” begins Ethan. “I've been wanting to ask you something.”

Brandt blinks, and then looks away. Ignoring the less than encouraging reaction, Ethan goes on, “When I was in hospital... why didn't you go rest somewhere, a hotel or something?”

There is silence for some time, and just when Ethan is about to throw in the towel and change the subject, Brandt speaks up, “There was nowhere to go.” It's a lame excuse and they both know it, and Ethan actually says so.

There is another silence. Brandt fidgets and stares at his shoes for a bit, before finally mumbling, “I felt guilty.” That's it. Nothing more.

Hunch confirmed, Ethan is just about to ask exactly _why_ he felt guilty, but before he can do so, Brandt's cab arrives and he mutters a hasty “Bye” before getting in and slamming the door. Ethan is about to ask if they can just share the cab, but before he can do so it has already sped off, leaving him standing in the dust thrown up by its wheels.

William Brandt is the greatest mystery Ethan Hunt has encountered, and he is determined to solve it.


	2. Ethan Hunt - IMF agent and official babysitter to Will Brandt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's been overworking himself to the point where he's too ill to function. Director Brassel gives Ethan a week to get Will back in shape in time for the field exam. Unfortunately, Will doesn't want to fight, so Ethan makes him fight the only way he knows how... by breaking him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um. I realize this is super-long, and I really did try to split it into two, but it just wasn't working that way. In any case the longer the better, yeah? *laughs nervously* please don't let the length put you off.
> 
> **WARNING**  
>  Ethan might seem a bit OOC in this. I'm not sure. I did try to keep him in character, so if he's OOC I apologize. Also, he's a bit of an asshole in this, but it's all for a good reason, I swear. And there's sorta kinda Will/Ethan bonding afterwards, sooo
> 
>  
> 
> ~~also I might have overdosed on italics~~

 The relief on Brandt's face when Ethan tells him Julia is not dead... it's palpable and overwhelming and Ethan is convinced the only reason Brandt is laughing is so he won't start crying. He's been there himself, when laughing – no matter how fake – is the only thing keeping you from breaking down. To find out that all your self-blame and guilt has been for nothing... He's surprised Brandt hasn't strangled him yet. Or anyone else, for that matter.

Brandt accepts the mission and leaves, thankfully without killing anyone, and Ethan is left alone with his thoughts. Seeing Julia again is nice, it's definitely nice, but the old urge to reconnect with her, to go talk to her again, is gone. He figures it's probably because he knows such a meeting won't end well for either of them. Better to live without her, than live with her and endanger her. One Owen Davian was enough, thank you very much.

He's back in his hotel room for the night, just having gotten into bed, when his phone rings. For a second he thinks he'll let this one go to voicemail, but then he checks caller ID and picks up. It's Brandt. And he doesn't sound so good.

“Ethan, I – I can't come on the mission.”

Ethan sits up, no longer sleepy. “What? Why not?”

“I – er, I've got work, Ethan.” Is it just him, or does Brandt sound uncertain and hesitant? “Since I was the Chief Analyst before everything went to shit, they want me to, uh, hold off on field work for a bit.”

“How long?” asks Ethan, not liking where this is going. Brandt knows everyone who is anyone, and he's got skills as good as Ethan's own, if not better due to experience. There is not a single agent in the IMF who is as fast, strong or smart as Brandt.

There is a long pause. Then Brandt says, “Indefinitely.”

Ethan swears. “That's bullshit. Look, Will – can I call you Will? – you're not the only analyst in the entire IMF. _Surely_ there's someone who can help them get IMF back up?”

Brandt – Will – sighs. “Look, I _want_ to be in on the mission, I really do. It's just – there's a lot of work that needs to be done.”

“But do _you_ want to do it?” asks Ethan. There is another pause.

“No,” Will finally admits quietly. “I don't want to. But I don't have a choice.”

“Yes you do,” says Ethan forcefully. “Just go talk to someone.”

“Who?” asks Will, his tone somewhat bitter. “The only person who actually _liked_ me was the Secretary, and now he's dead. The new Secretary is Fritz Everett, and he's a bit of an asshole. I'm stuck here, Ethan.”

“No you're not,” Ethan tells him. “They can't just make you stay back, okay? You're a field agent now–”

“Actually, my job description is still analyst,” interrupts Will. “Officially, I'm not a field agent.”

“Yet,” tacks on Ethan when it's obvious that Will won't. “I'm going to go talk to the Director as soon as I can. You're coming on this mission, Will, and that's the end of it.”

“Ethan,” sighs Will, before giving up. “Okay, do whatever you want.” He hangs up, and Ethan is left swearing at the phone.

Some time later the bloody thing beeps again, and Ethan finds a text message waiting. _Will Brandt_ , says the name on the screen, and he opens it to find a single word. _No._

_What?_ he texts back.

_You asked if you could call me Will. You can't._

_Why not?_

_Because I said so._

_Well, I'm going to call you Will anyway._

There is an interval of a few minutes, like Will doesn't quite know how to reply. Then, _I know_.

Ethan smiles before putting the phone down. It's almost like they're actually becoming friends. Huh.

His last thought before he falls asleep is how he's going to convince Director Brassel to let Will back into the field.

* * *

Will rubs his eyes and blinks at the computer. The screen is wavy and much too fucking bright, and he literally cannot remember the last time he had something other than coffee. _Not a good thing_ , he thinks absently, but if he gets up even for simple things like food he knows he'll collapse on the floor.

And if anyone finds him that way he's going to commit homicide first, and then suicide.

He's been working since the moment he first stepped off into the office, literally, and his only outing has been the meetup in Seattle. He goes home only to sleep, and shower if he has the time for it. Needless to say, he looks like shit. He knows he's lost a couple pounds here and there (living solely off coffee will do that to you), has the beginnings of a beard, looks generally disheveled and even has really fucking dark circles under his eyes.

He's so deep into the report he's typing that he doesn't hear his phone ring, at first. It's been three days since he called Ethan late at night, and he hasn't gotten any personal calls since then. Just calls from the office. And a lot of those. He knows he can just walk off if he wants, citing that 9 to 5 is his work time and he's not going to overstay, but Fritz Everett is an asshole and has threatened him with losing his job more than once. Which would even be okay, but he knows too much, and he's pretty sure someone will send a hit squad after him if he tries to leave.

The sudden outburst of the tinny Led Zeppelin ringtone startles him into almost spilling his stone-cold coffee all over the keyboard. He looks at the screen – it simply says Unknown, and he debates whether or not he should ignore it. It keeps on ringing all through his 25-second internal debate, and finally he picks up. “William Brandt.”

“Hey.” It's Ethan. “I've set up a meeting with Director Brassel today, at 11, in his office. I want you to be there.”

Will sits back and runs a hand through his hair. “Uh – why?”

He can almost see Ethan's eye-roll. “Because it concerns you,” he says in a very patient tone. “Be there, okay?”

He hangs up before Will can refuse. Will almost calls back and says he's not going to come, because really, what's the point, but then he decides not to. After all, Ethan's middle name is Stubborn Fucking Bastard, and he's only going to keep trying to convince Will. Will doesn't think he has the mental energy to deal with that, not right now. He'll just make up an excuse later.

He goes back to the report. He ignores the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach by the time it's 10. He ignores the nausea, the blossoming migraine, and the dizziness. The report is finished by 10:45, and he thinks maybe enough is enough, and he should go get himself something to eat. There isn't much else left to do. A couple of the junior analysts have asked him to proofread their reports, but he'll just do that later.

Subway will do, he decides as he manages to get to his feet. A nice grilled chicken sandwich with lettuce and cheese and – _oh_.

_Ow_.

The floor is a lot more comfortable than it looks, really. Bit underrated, sleeping on the floor. Will thinks he'll just close his eyes, rest them for a minute, on this nice comfortable floor...

* * *

At exactly 11 o'clock Ethan knocks on Brassel's office door, and doesn't wait for an answer. Brassel just looks up, nods and asks, “What did you do this time?”

Ethan strides purposefully up to the heavy oak desk and demands, “I want Agent William Brandt to be allowed into the field.”

“Is he aware you're here?” asks Brassel, and Ethan nods. “Well, then – why isn't he here to ask himself?”

“Because he doesn't think he's a good field agent,” Ethan tells him. “However, I've seen him at work, and let me tell you – he's the best.”

“Better than you?” asks Brassel. It's a rhetorical question, but Ethan answers anyway.

“Possibly. Probably. Look up his file. See for yourself.”

Brassel glares at Ethan, clearly not liking being told what to do. Nevertheless, he starts jabbing at his keyboard, and staring at the screen. Ethan waits patiently, if “patiently” can be construed as tapping his feet, fidgeting and being generally impatient and irritable.

Finally Brassel looks up and says, “I admit his skills, both as an analyst and field agent, are impressive. But keep in mind that IMF needs him now, and he's more useful as an analyst than a field agent.”

“He's not the _only_ analyst,” says Ethan irritably. “I'm sure you'll find someone else to look after things. I want him in the field. His skills are unparalleled.”

Brassel considers this for a moment, before asking, “How does he get along with Agents Carter and Dunn?”

“He gets along well with them,” replies Ethan. “They're more friends than teammates, really.”

“And you?”

Ethan pauses, and thinks about it before saying, “We make a good team. He was crucial to the Dubai mission, even more so to the Mumbai mission. Trust me, Director, we would not have succeeded without him.”

Brassel contemplates this, and then asks, “If I asked Agent Brandt to see me now, would he corroborate everything you've said?”

Ethan hesitates for a moment, but it's more than enough for Brassel. “Ethan, I can't approve him for field duty if he doesn't want to–”

“He does!” interrupts Ethan. “I'll go talk to him. In fact, I'll bring him up here now.”

Brassel nods, and Ethan leaves.

* * *

The first thing Will is aware of is a horrendous headache. The second is voices, issuing from above his head.

What the fuck?

He opens his eyes, only to moan and close them again when the light proves too bright. Immediately there is quiet, and then a familiar voice hisses, “Dim the lights! Now!”

“This isn't a _bedroom lamp_ , Hunt,” retorts a second voice. “I can't just _dim the lights_.”

“Then switch them off!”

Will has recognized the voices correctly as Ethan and Director Brassel, and he's grateful that both are whispering. He really doesn't need loud noises exacerbating his headache.

“Will,” says Ethan's voice, soft and surprisingly gentle, “Will, it's okay to open your eyes now.”

Will does so, opening them slowly and then blinking because well, it's dark. The only light is the little bit of sunlight that's coming in through the shutters on the window. He's laid on the couch in Brassel's office, and Ethan is standing over him. “What happened?” he asks, voice raspy and scratchy.

“Hunt found you passed out on the floor of your office,” explains Brassel, who's standing by the window, arms crossed.

“Yeah, care to explain?” adds Ethan.

Shit. _Shit shit_ ** _shit_.** Will suddenly realizes the kind of predicament he's in. He passed out, in his office, and now he's in the Director's office. This can't be good. This can't be good at all.

“I'm all right,” he tries to say, and Ethan and Brassel both snort disbelievingly. “No really, I am,” he tells them, wincing as he tries to sit up. “Just – haven't been sleeping much?” He hates that it sounds like a question.

Ethan rolls his eyes, and then pushes him back down. “Don't get up,” he orders. “How long have you been working?”

Will considers. The longer he's quiet, the more angry Ethan seems to get. His eyebrows are drawing close together, and he has that look in his eyes, the one that says he's going to do something stupid. When Will hasn't spoken in a minute, Ethan says, “Okay, a simpler question – when was the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday morning.” Will knows he is doomed the minute he says it.

“Yesterday morning,” repeats Ethan, barely restrained fury audible just below the surface calm of his voice. “The last time you ate anything... was yesterday morning. Why?”

“I was working,” says Will defensively, not liking how cornered he feels. Ethan Hunt has no fucking right to act like this.

Ethan turns to Brassel. “This is madness,” he says quietly, so quietly that it can only be the calm before the storm. “Look at him. They're overworking him, he's going to land up in the hospital.”

“I'm fine,” says Will loudly, not liking how Ethan is talking about him like he's not even there.

“No, you're not,” Ethan tells him. “Come on, Will–”

“Brandt,” interrupts Will, because if Ethan keeps using his first name like that, like it means something, he's going to go insane.

Ethan goes on like he hasn't even heard him. “Will, keep this up and you'll ruin yourself. That can't happen.”

“Ethan, I'm fine,” Will repeats, his voice rising a little. “I've already told you I was working, and that I need to do this because this is where I'm more useful right now!”

“He's right,” says Brassel. “For the time being, IMF needs all its analysts. Especially Brandt.”

Ethan huffs an impatient sigh. “Well, I want him in the field, because God dammit he's excellent in the field, and my team works well with him!”

“I doubt he could shoot the broad side of a barn right now,” argues Brassel.

“I'm right here!” Will exclaims, irritated. “And listen, Ethan – I'm damn sure there's someone else in the entire IMF who can replace me on the team, okay? Or you could just take Luther Stickell!”

“Luther Stickell's best as a techie! We already _have_ a techie!”

“Well, then, someone else!”

Ethan decides to go for another tactic. “Didn't you tell me some time ago that you _wanted_ to be in the field?”

Will looks absolutely furious, like he can't believe Ethan's decided to bring that up _now_. “It doesn't matter what I want, okay? I'm needed here as an _analyst_ , so that's what I'm going to do!”

“Shut up, both of you,” says Brassel sharply, and they both snap their heads towards him. He looks annoyed at his Chief Analyst and best agent fighting like children. “I have a compromise – there's a field exam scheduled at the end of this week. If Brandt can pass that, fine. If not, an analyst he is.”

“But IMF–” begins Will, and Brassel cits him off.

“If we need you for anything that no one else can do, we will call you in,” he says. “Now for God's sake go argue somewhere else, and switch the lights on on your way out.”

Ethan nods, and looks expectantly at Will. “Feeling better now?”

“I'm _fine_ , thank you,” Will informs him irritably, before struggling to his feet... and immediately swaying. To further exacerbate his annoyance, Ethan is the one who steadies him, grabbing both his shoulders and offering support.

If Brassel were any less of a professional, he would have facedesked. “Remember, one week,” he warns. “If he's not okay by the end of that, he won't be allowed into the field.”

Suddenly Ethan thinks this may be a lot harder than he initially thought.

* * *

“What are you doing?” asks Will deadpan, staring at Ethan.

Ethan pauses in the act of rolling out his sleeping bag. “I'm making sleeping arrangements,” he says, like it's obvious. It is.

“Why?” asks Will in the exact same tone. “You've dropped me home, thank you. Why are you still here?”

Ethan gives the room a cursory once-over. “You call this home? How long have you been living here?”

“It's been a couple of years. What's your point?”

Ethan snorts. “A couple of years. And you haven't unpacked.”

“Time is a precious commodity, Ethan Hunt. Not all of us were born to defy the odds, you know.” Will's tone is sarcastic, but far from being offended, Ethan smiles.

“Well, you were, weren't you?” is all he says, and goes back to unrolling his sleeping bag.

“What the fuck does that mean?” asks Will irritably. When Ethan doesn't answer, just smiles mysteriously, Will goes for an easier question. “No, seriously – _why are you here_?”

Ethan finishes setting up his “sleeping arrangements” and looks up at Will. “Well, because Director Brassel said you have a week to get better, and I'm here to make sure that you take care of yourself.”

“I'm not a kid, Ethan,” argues Will, annoyed. “I can take care of myself.”

Ethan grins. “Yeah, I've seen that.”

_Bastard_ , thinks Will with a scowl. “No really, Ethan. Go home.”

“Or what?” Ethan's tone is challenging.

“I'll make you,” says Will simply.

“Go on, then,” invites Ethan. “Make me.”

Will just glares. They both know he can't walk two steps without falling, not in his current state.

“Well, if you're not going to make me, I guess I'll just make myself at home,” says Ethan pleasantly, and the only reason Will doesn't punch him is because if Ethan retaliates, he'll be screwed. You know, with not being able to move and stuff.

“So, what do you want for dinner?” asks Ethan conversationally.

“What, you're going to cook for me?” Will snorts derisively.

“Yeah. Or we could order. So – what will it be?”

“I'm not hungry.” And he's really not. If he eats even a bit he's going to hurl.

Ethan narrows his eyes. “The hell you're not. You're going to eat something healthy full of protein and carbs, and you're going to do it _now_.”

“What are you, my mother now?” snarks Will. “You can't _make me_.”

Bad idea. It turns out Ethan can, as evidenced when Ethan makes corned beef sandwiches and literally stuffs them in Will's mouth. Will tries to struggle, he really does, but it's kind of hard when a 190-pound man is sitting on your torso like it's a fucking sofa and preventing your escape.

He does manage to finish the sandwiches, though, and Ethan seems greatly satisfied by this. He then forces a glass of warm milk on Will, before nagging him into bed. The bastard's actually set his sleeping bag right besides Will's bed.

The lights have been off for ten minutes when Will speaks, his voice loud in the silence. “Ethan.”

“What?” comes Ethan's voice from somewhere to his left.

“Why are you doing this?”

It's dark, but he doesn't have to see to know Ethan's rolling his eyes. “You know why – you have to pass the field exam. It's a really good deal Brassel's offered us. Be stupid not to take him up on it.”

“That's not what I mean,” says Will. “Why are you working so hard for _me_ to be on the team?”

“You know that too,” replies Ethan. “You're smart, you're fast and you're good at kicking ass. And you get along well with Benji and Jane. We make a good – scratch that, great team, the four of us.”

Will is silent for some time, considering this. Then he asks, because he truly does not understand, “Why me? I don't know if you've noticed, Ethan – I have a tendency to fuck things up.”

Ethan lets out a surprised whistle. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” mumbles Will, wondering why on earth he's having a heart-to-fucking-heart with Ethan Stubborn Fucking Bastard Hunt in the middle of the fucking night. But he really needs to know.

“Will... Croatia wasn't a fuck-up.” Ethan's voice is unbelievably soft, and Will feels something stick in his throat. No one has used that tone of voice with him in forever. No one has spoken to him like they actually care. He's not sure where Ethan's going with this, though, because he's pretty sure that he hasn't done anything to deserve this. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“It was,” he says quietly. “Julia–”

“Is quite alive and well, I assure you,” finishes Ethan. “She's _happy_ , Will. She's absolutely fine. And so am I. We've both moved on, dealt with it. The only one who's still not over it... is you.”

Will doesn't know what to say to that. Sure, he's glad Ethan and Julia are okay, but the very mention of Croatia still sends chills up his spine and he's not sure _how_ to deal with it. Years of guilt and self-flagellation didn't just leave a person. Even now, a little something inside him still says that Ethan is only saying so to appease him, that it is _not_ , in fact, okay. It doesn't matter whether that's true or not – Will believes it.

God help him, he believes it, and he doesn't want to endanger anyone. He doesn't want to be the reason someone on the team dies, or gets hurt. He's already failed Ethan once. He's not going to put himself through it again.

“Good night,” is all he says, and in the darkness, Ethan sighs.

“Good night, Will.”

“Brandt.”

Ethan doesn't answer.

* * *

Will feels better by the middle of the next day. Food no longer makes him nauseous, he doesn't get dizzy and his headache has receded to tolerable levels. He doesn't mention last night to Ethan, and Ethan doesn't bring it up. Like it never happened, and frankly, Will prefers it this way.

He exercises that evening. Not much – he's still not feeling that good – just a bit of a run, some push-ups and sit-ups, and some stretching. It feels good to put his muscles to use again, something he can't do in an office.

Doesn't matter. He's not going back in the field. Ethan can feed him all the protein and carbs he wants, but he's not going to pass that exam. He won't let himself.

He can't.

* * *

They spar the next day, and Ethan has Will flat on the ground in less than a minute. “What are you doing?” he huffs angrily, pinning Will to the floor by his wrists. Will doesn't struggle, and that's what irritates Ethan.

Instead of answering, Will just throws Ethan off himself, and stands. “I'm not giving that exam, Ethan,” he says, plopping down on his couch.

“Yes, you are.” Ethan's eyes narrow dangerously. Will's seen that look – that _you better listen the fuck up and do as I say, mister_ glint. It doesn't faze him.

He doesn't answer. Ethan tries to attack him, to get him to retort, but Will just brushes his attempts off. Finally, exasperated, Ethan stalks off, and Will is left with a sickness in his stomach that has nothing to do with his illness.

* * *

“Get in,” says Ethan irritably. “Now.”

Knowing there's no point in arguing, Will complies and folds himself into the front passenger seat of Ethan's Stingray. Ethan hasn't spoken to him since his fifth failed attempt at getting Will to spar, and Will hasn't tried to initiate conversation either. However, Ethan hasn't moved out either, and the tension in the air is thick enough to feel suffocating sometimes.

They drive in silence. Ethan is tense because he has no idea whether Will is going to pass the exam or not. Will doesn't care. Whatever the outcome today, at least Ethan will go home and he'll be left in peace with his guilt for company, instead of the cause of that guilt.

Ethan speaks as they're getting out of the car, once they've reached HQ. The words are quiet and toneless, but they sting Will, and they _fucking hurt_. “You are a coward, William Brandt.”

Before he can demand an explanation, Ethan has stalked off. Will follows but doesn't call Ethan out on it, not wanting to create a scene.

There are a few young trainees waiting to be tested today, and two or three who are older than Will. This is the first field exam since IMF has gotten back up, and the turnout isn't much. It's only those people who have been deemed ready – the rest are still stuck in training.

Ethan leaves Will waiting outside the hall, and goes off somewhere. Will doesn't ask. Ethan's words still echo in his head, and he feels sick to the stomach. A coward. So that's what Ethan thinks he is. After _everything_ , after Croatia and suffering through Julia's “death” only to find out it wasn't real, after risking his ass multiple times in Dubai and Mumbai, after saving Ethan's ass from falling off the tallest building in the world... Ethan thinks he's a coward.

Whatever. Like what Ethan says matters anyway.

Yeah, right. Who is he kidding? Of course it fucking matters, or it wouldn't sting so fucking much.

He doesn't notice his hands have curled into tight fists, not until a small stab of pain breaks through his reverie and he looks down to see that his nails have broken through the skin of his palm. He wipes his hands off on a tissue, and folds his arms.

Fucking Ethan Hunt. He should try having find out the past couple of years have been a lie. Fucking bastard.

His name is called after three kid agents, and he goes in. A surprise awaits him – his examiner is Jane. She smiles encouragingly at him and says, “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” he says, and begins the first round.

It shouldn't be this easy, he thinks – he hasn't given the exam in years. But his reflexes are still quick, his moves even faster, and slowly but surely Will begins to ease into combat mode – even if he doesn't want to. His body has a mind of its own, it seems.

Well, fuck it, then. He'll just have to work harder to fail.

It all goes swimmingly – until he gets to the final phase of the exam, the hand-to-hand combat. And it seems the entire universe really fucking hates him, because his opponent is Ethan Fucking Hunt.

“Did you two set this up?” he demands, looking from Jane to Ethan. “Is this some kind of joke? Is this even _allowed_?”

“All you have to do is come out on top,” says Jane, like she hasn't even heard him, like he's just another kid on his first field exam. “The more you get hit, the more marks will be deducted. The more hits you get in – the more you score. Good luck.”

“Hold the fuck up,” begins Will angrily, but Jane has already pressed the buzzer and is watching him expectantly.

This is the first time he's come face to face with Ethan after that morning, and the sight of his impassive face reminds him again of his words. _You are a coward, William Brandt_. He's exhausted, he's been fighting for years, his own fears and demons and thoughts, and he's just about had it. Ethan doesn't know jack shit about what he's been through. Ethan has no fucking right.

To make matters worse, Ethan speaks again. They're facing each other, five feet apart, both tense and waiting for the other to make the first move. “I meant it, _Brandt_.” He says the name like it's a particularly foul word. Something coils tight inside Will. “I meant what I said. You _are_ a fucking coward.” He finally throws the first punch, a piece of cake that Will dodges easily. “Like you're the only agent who's ever had to make a hard call. Like you're the only agent who's had a bad mission. How many of them are wallowing in it like you are, huh? That's right – none.”

There is red lining the edges of Will's vision. He tries to control his anger, but he's failing and honestly – he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to hold it in this time. He can't remember the last time he's felt this furious.

“You have no idea what I've been through,” he says, voice low and deadly as he counters a kick that could have smashed his jaw.

“Oh yeah?” challenges Ethan. “I was _there_ , remember? I was there, and fuck, but forgive me for thinking that it was hard on me as well.” He attacks again, is countered again. “I've moved on, Brandt. Julia has moved on. Fuck, why haven't _you_?”

Will doesn't answer, just watches Ethan. Jane is watching both of them, morbidly fascinated and curious. The score sheet in front of her lies forgotten, the pencil having clattered to the floor long ago.

“I'll tell you why, Will,” says Ethan, and he looks like he's actually enjoying this. Will wants to punch that fucking smirk off his face. “Because you're too cowardly, too selfish to think of anyone but yourself. 'IMF needs me', yeah _right_. Why don't you just say that you don't give a fuck about anyone but yourself? All you want to do is wallow in your own misery, blame yourself, like you're the only one who–”

He is cut off by Will's roar of anger, and before he can stop himself Will flies at Ethan, punching and kicking at everything he can get at. Ethan counters him the first few times, but soon Will has the upper hand and is backing him into a corner. He can hear his blood pounding through his ears, can _feel_ the adrenalin coursing through his veins, the rush of the battle and the absolute _injustice_ of it all, the bloody _unfairness_ , because selfish is the last thing he is, a coward is the last thing he is, and Ethan doesn't and will never ever understand what he's been through, even before Croatia–

Well fuck it, then, he's just going to _make_ Ethan understand, he's going to make Ethan _pay_ for what he said, because it's not the truth, and it hurts, it shouldn't but it does, it hurts so fucking much and Will hates it, hates himself and Ethan and everything in his life that has led up to this moment. Ethan Hunt doesn't get to tell him what he is, he doesn't have the fucking right to just waltz into his life and act like they're friends, because they're _not_ , they're not and Will doesn't care what it takes, he's going to fucking get Ethan back for this–

Dimly he is aware of someone shouting, and the rushing sound in his ears fades to a gentle whisper. “Stop!” Jane is screaming, “stop, Will, _please_!” He looks down to find that he has Ethan pinned against the wall, fist raised to hit him one more time. Ethan's lip is split, his shirt is torn and he's sporting an excellent shiner, but otherwise seems pretty much okay. That is – until Will sees the way he's holding himself, and realizes he might have cracked a rib. Or two. Or five.

He backs away wordlessly, feeling Ethan's burning gaze on him. Ethan's face is still impassive, and Will has no idea how he's done what he's done. He's beat up Ethan Hunt. _How_? This is Ethan Hunt – he could probably kill people in his sleep. And Will has beat him up.

He looks down to see his own knuckles split wide open and bleeding, the bruising around them red and angry. His own lip is split, and he wipes some blood off it before glancing at Jane. She looks terrified, and Will realizes that she's scared of him. Jane Carter, badass IMF agent and one of the hardiest people he knows – and she is looking at him like he might eat her alive any second.

He can't take it – he runs. He runs out of the double doors without looking back, and he runs all the way back home. And he has never hated himself as much as he does now.

* * *

Ethan rings the doorbell once, twice, but when no one answers he lets himself in. He supposes he deserves it, what with having baited Will like that earlier on. It worked though, it worked brilliantly, and when he thinks of it that way, he can't bring himself to regret it.

“Will?” he calls out as he makes his way into the living room. His shiner looks better now, after he's put some ice on it, and his ribs are only cracked, not broken, and should be good as new soon enough in time for the mission. For all of Will's rage, he didn't do much damage. “Will?” he tries again. “You passed, Will. You passed the exam.”

There is no reply, but Ethan knows Will's home. The TV is running on mute, and the coffee maker is switched on. It's just a matter of finding where Will is.

He makes his way through the kitchen and bathrooms, and finally finds Will in his bedroom. The younger agent is sitting on his bed, elbows on knees and his head in his hands, and he's shaking so hard that Will can see it from across the room.

“You've passed,” Ethan tries again, ignoring the way his stomach drops. “I've talked to Director Brassel, and he's approved you for duty. Jane didn't mention the, uh, little incident, though.”

Will doesn't even seem to have heard him. His hands are clutching desperately at his hair, and if Ethan didn't know better he'd think Will was having a nervous breakdown.

“Will?” he says cautiously, approaching him. “Will, are you all right?” Stupid question, he knows. He also knows that he's the reason Will is going through this, whatever this is.

He sits down next to Will on the bed. When Will still doesn't acknowledge his presence, he warily nudges Will's shoulder.

“Get the fuck away from me.” Will's voice is hoarse and broken, and suddenly Ethan hates himself.

“Will, about today,” he begins, and Will looks up. The look in his eyes silences Ethan. Will looks like he has just lost everything in the world that he loves.

“Just leave, Ethan,” he says, sounding too tired to shout. His eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, and Ethan knows he's been crying. Fuck. “Go. I can't – I – I'm not – just go, Ethan.”

“Look–”

“No,” interrupts Will forcefully. “Look, I _know_ , okay? I know I'm a coward, I know I'm a selfish bitch, you don't have to fucking rub it in, okay? You got what you wanted. I hope you're happy. Just – please. Go. Leave me alone.” His voice breaks on the last word.

Fuck fuckity fuck. Ethan has no idea how the fuck to erase what he's said, because– “I didn't mean it, Will. I only said it to get a rise out of you, to get you to fight. I _needed_ you to fight, Will, you were so apathetic and trust me, if there was some other way, I'd never had done this to you.”

“Doesn't matter.” Will's laugh is bitter and mirthless. “You were right.”

“Fuck,” swears Ethan, “I wasn't, Will. I didn't mean it, and I don't believe a word of it. I _know_ it was a dick move, okay? But it was the only thing I had left. It was the only way I could get you to fight.”

Will curses, nearly rips out his own hair. “Fuck, Ethan – _why_?” he demands angrily. “Why? Why couldn't you just accept that it was my choice? Why couldn't you let me just do what I wanted to?”

“Because you were _wrong_!” Well, two can play at the shouting game, decides Ethan. “You _know_ you were wrong, Will! I had to make you see that! I don't know what you think you are, but you're the only agent I want on my team and I am not taking no for an answer, okay?”

“Well, fuck you!” yells Will. “Fuck you, Ethan, fuck you and your self-righteousness and your _I'm always right because I'm Ethan Fucking Hunt_ shit! _Fuck you_!”

“Why?” challenges Ethan, quite aware that he may get beat up – again. He doesn't care though – if it gets Will to snap out of whatever state he's currently in, it's worth it. He can't stand it, can't stand seeing Will Brandt shake and cry, knowing it's his fault, he's the one who broke Will. “Why, Will? Because I _was_ right this time?” Will opens his mouth to protest, but Ethan goes right on, voice rising with every word, “How many times do I have to fucking tell you that Croatia wasn't your fucking fault, huh, Will? _I already knew what was going to happen, dammit, I was prepared!_ It doesn't matter what choice you made because the outcome would have been the same! Why the fuck won't you understand that?”

Will gets to his feet, eyes blazing. “How dare you?” he screams. “How _dare_ you decide who I am, who the _fuck_ gave you that right? You have _no_ idea, no fucking idea what I've been through, how _dare_ you call me a coward!”

“I've already told you I didn't mean it!” yells Ethan, also rising. “Why can't you understand, Will? Are you deaf, or just plain stupid? Croatia – wasn't – your – fault,” he enunciates each word clearly, “and – I – don't – blame – you, you stupid fucking bastard! What I said – I'm not proud of it, okay? You think I don't hate myself for having said that? I _know_ I was wrong, dammit! But it was the only way to get you to _fight_ , because I need you, I need you on my fucking team!”

Will is shocked into silence at the admission, at the word _need_ , because Ethan Hunt doesn't _need_ anything. He takes whatever he wants. He doesn't need things, and the fact that he's even admitted it out loud...

“Fuck,” swears Will quietly, his voice more of a sob than anything else, “fuck you, Ethan, really. Fuck you.” There is no venom in the words – all the fight has drained out of Will, leaving him exhausted and feeling like someone has just filled the void inside him with lead.

“I know,” replies Ethan softly, hazarding another touch to Will's shoulder. This time Will doesn't flinch or hit him, and Ethan takes that as a win. “I know,” he repeats, and gently guides Will back to the bed, and sits beside him. “I'm sorry, Will.”

Will does not reply, just buries his face in his hands and stays very still for a long time. When Ethan is quite sure he's not going to say anything else, he sighs and stands. “I'll leave, then. You – uh – you take care, okay, Will?”

He's at the door when Will responds. “Aren't you going to stay and make sure I eat properly, you motherfucker?” He is not smiling, but there is a glint in his eyes.

Ethan laughs, despite himself. “Only if you promise not to kill me,” he says mock-seriously.

“Killing my team leader. I'd be kicked out for that, for sure.”

"And I get to call you Will."

There is a sigh. Then, "Fine."

It takes a moment for the words to register, and when they do, Ethan smiles. Then he grows serious again and says, “For the record, Will, I _am_ sorry. I know what I said was – well, truly horrible. Please just know that I didn't mean it. I don't believe that about you. Croatia and Dubai and Mumbai – it all just proves that you're the opposite of what I said. You know that, right?”

Will huffs out a sigh and bites out, “Are we going to end this conversation or not?”

Ethan nods. “Okay, then.”

Fifteen minutes later, lying in the dark wide awake with sleep nowhere nearby, Will speaks again. “By the way – the next time you want me angry, you can just trash my car.”

“Noted,” chuckles Ethan. He knows that this means Will has accepted his apology, but he also knows that it doesn't change what Will's been through in the last few hours. He's not sure there's anything that can erase that self-doubt and misery from Will's mind, anything that will make Will forget what Ethan said, but he can try. He can try to make it up, to make Will realize that he is so much more than he thinks. And dammit, he's going to.

William Brandt is still a mystery, but Ethan thinks he's already beginning to solve this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do hope this wasn't absolute shit. Please let me know what you think!  
> -Remy


	3. The Past Isn't Always in the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Brandt doesn't do birthdays, but his team sure as hell does. Ethan stays even after everyone leaves, and asks Will about his past. He gets more than he asked for.
> 
> **Trigger warning:** Mentions of alcoholism, child abuse and sexual abuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's taken a lot out of me. It was absolutely _exhausting_ to write, but I'm rather satisfied with it. I hope it's to your liking as well, dear readers.

Will Brandt doesn't do birthdays.

Even as a kid he hadn't celebrated his birthday, hadn't wanted to. He'd hated it back then, tried to pretend that it was just another day, nothing special. Now he's just indifferent, and it really is just another day. That said, he doesn't expect anyone else to remember his birthday, or to even know it. It's right there in his file, but it's just a trivial detail, a tiny date to skim over and be forgotten in favor of other important information.

Just like any other day, he wakes up alone in his apartment, barely furnished. Everything is still in boxes, like Ethan's pointed out. He doesn't see the point in unpacking things he doesn't need everyday, but he can't bring himself to throw out his old things either. He likes to think of himself as a logical man, not fazed by emotions where they don't count, but something inside him makes him want to hang on. He just puts it down to anomalies in his system and moves on to the next important issue.

Breakfast is just a sandwich and coffee, and it takes him all of four minutes to finish. He puts the plate and mug in the sink and puts his blazer on, briefcase waiting by the door. After a cursory once-over he locks the apartment and goes down to the parking, where his 1969 Maserati Ghibli awaits. The silvery blue car is the only indulgence in his otherwise ordered, organized (and quite frankly, boring) life.

Missions are few and far between these days – it seems that the world's lowlife has decided to take a vacation. Or maybe it's just that he finds them easy, quick to finish and already forgotten by the time the team boards their jet back home. He feels more and more like a rookie with every passing mission, and it's not just him, either – Ethan is extra-irritable, pulls off dangerous stunts where they're not required at all, and twitches in annoyance every time someone mentions the “good ol' days”; Jane is trying and failing to repress violent urges, and more often than not ends up beating the shit out of the dummies at the Rec Center in HQ; and Benji is just Benji, cracking jokes and watching his geek movies. Will doubts a hurricane could faze him when he's immersed in _Lord of the Rings_ marathons.

The drive from his apartment to HQ doesn't take more than twenty minutes on a good day, and that's why he's chosen this particular apartment. Work has been his priority for a long time, and his entire life is structured around it. He supposes it's a good thing IMF won't let him leave, because he's not sure he'll know what to do with his life if there's no IMF in it.

The office is deserted when he walks in, just two or three junior analysts already typing away on their computers. The place has taken on a permanent coffee-ish smell, probably because of the copious amounts of the substance being ingested within its walls. Will walks to his desk and sits, nodding at the other three and starting up his computer.

Ethan comes in around two and a half hours later. He walks in like he owns the place and sits down in the chair in front of Will's desk. Will pauses his typing and looks up. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

Ethan grins at him. "Hello to you too," he replies. "I was in HQ to talk to Director Brassel about something, figured I'd drop in on you on my way out. You all right?"

Will nods. "I'm fine."

"Good," says Ethan, and they lapse into a somewhat awkward silence. It's been a few months since the field test incident, and they haven't spoken of it since. In fact, Will would be quite content to forget the entire fiasco if it isn't for Ethan, who keeps apologizing, not with words but with small, trivial gestures that wouldn't mean much if Will didn't know what was up.

Sometimes Ethan brings him coffee at work, on days when he has no reason to be in HQ. Sometimes he brings lunch. Sometimes he physically drags Will away from his desk so that they can go out for a walk. Will would rather die than admit it, but he's a little bit grateful for the last. He needs the breathers, and Ethan's not such bad company when he's not in danger of dying from some stupid stunt.

"So," says Ethan at length, "what are you working on?"

"Just a report," answers Will absently, still typing. "The Secretary wanted to see something about that mission that rookie team came back from, a week ago."

"Wasn't that the team that screwed up?" asks Ethan, more to make small talk than because he's really interested. Also, he likes Will's voice. He's not going to ever admit it, but it's got this quiet yet firm undertone to it. And sometimes Will's voice gives a lot more hints about his feelings than his face does. Ethan doesn't think even Will knows how expressive he can be. He doesn't think Will even realizes.

"Not really," Will replies. "It wasn't so much a screw-up as an intelligence issue. Some of the intel was incorrect, and that led to a messy plan and even messier extraction. It's typical, especially for rookies, but Everett's not so happy. He's still chewing their heads off, and now that he's discovered it was an intel error he's even angrier. We've had thirteen tantrums just this week, and it's only Wednesday."

"You've been counting?" asks Ethan with a little laugh.

Will nods seriously. "There's a betting pool to see if he can cross thirty."

"Normally I'd ask who died and made him Secretary, but," Ethan says, shrugging and choosing not to complete the sentence.

"Mm," hums Will absently. The Secretary's death is still a sore point with him. The old man had been good to Will, had rooted for him when no one else had. His loss had been hard on Will, still is. Not that he lets it show - it's time he moved on.

"Hang on." Ethan sits up straight as something comes to mind. "When you say it was an intel error - he's not chewing _your_ head off, is he?"

Will chooses to remain silent. Yes, Everett's being an even bigger asshole to him than usual, but there's no need to let Ethan know.

Of course, his silence is the only answer Ethan needs. "I'm going to go have a talk with that man," he says angrily, standing.

Will's head snaps away from his computer. "Don't," he says at once. "Ethan, _sit down_."

Ethan doesn't comply.

"Ethan, _please_ ," says Will, and Ethan is astounded at the hint of pleading in his voice. It is that, more than anything else, that drives him to listen to Will.

"It's not your fault!" he says the moment he's seated. "You didn't even have anything to do with that mission!"

"But I'm Chief Analyst, and Everett needs a scapegoat," says Will, and Ethan hates how matter-of-fact he sounds. "In any case, the error's been fixed, and this report is the last we're going to discuss that mission."

Ethan doesn't look convinced. In fact, he still looks like he's going to bolt out of his chair any moment.

"Ethan, I'm fine," sighs Will. "Really, I'm used to it. And in any case, I can look after myself. I can fight my own battles."

"I know," says Ethan. "But it's not fair, Will."

"Deal with it," suggests Will, going back to his typing. "I am."

Ethan just huffs.

They sit in silence for a while, the only sounds those of Will's keyboard. Ethan doodles on Will's stack of Post-ItTM notes, decidedly bored. Will doesn't get why Ethan doesn't just go home, but he's too busy to comment on it.

Twenty minutes later he finally saves the report and shuts down his computer, and asks, "So what are you really doing here?"

Ethan stops his doodling. "I figured we'd have lunch."

"Together?" Will asks before he can stop himself.

Ethan snorts. "No, I'll drop you off at one place, and go off to another, and when you're done I'll pick you up."

Will rolls his eyes. "Don't be such an ass."

"Don't ask stupid questions then," replies Ethan with a smirk. Will resists the urge to throw a paperweight at him, but he can't stop a fond smile. Stupid Ethan with his stupid lunch routines and his stupid insistence to include Will.

"What are we waiting for?" asks Will, grabbing his jacket. "Let's go."

Lunch, as usual, is a simple affair. Ethan chooses a good place, they order and make small talk. Benji's invited them all over for dinner the next week, and they discuss that briefly before moving on to work topics.

"Everett is a bigger asshole than people give him credit for," Will tells Ethan, waving his fork around animatedly as he talks. Ethan watches in fascination even as he tries to stay out of the way of the crazy fork; if he could watch Will all the time he'd never be bored. Will doesn't talk much, but once you got him started he doesn't shut up either, and Ethan finds that interesting.

(Very interesting, in fact. Not that _that_ thought is ever going to see the light of day.

Will's not going to admit it to anyone either, but he actually likes these days, when Ethan visits or takes him out for lunch. It makes a nice break from the monotony of the office, and Will can do with a break every now and then. Sometimes the office makes him go crazy, especially Fritz Everett and that stick up his ass and his penchant for making Will's life hell.)

"Yeah, I've heard," is Ethan's casual answer, and Will takes it as an invitation to go on.

"You think he was an asshole this week? You didn't see him a month ago. He nearly made this girl cry because her report wasn't the right font. I am not even joking. He yelled for twenty minutes about how much he hates Calibri and wants everything to be in Times. Like, who even gives a fuck? I'd proofread that report and it was perfect. And the week before that he nearly bit off a junior's head because the guy had found himself a boyfriend from IT. You'd think he'd be less of an asshole and more of a..."

And Will goes on, and Ethan listens, because he likes Will's voice and he likes it when Will talks.

* * *

He drops Will back off at the office after that, with a stern, "Be home by 6 or I'll kick your ass first and then Everett's." Will just grins and rolls his eyes - Ethan says it every time he comes over, and Will has just given up now and he listens, because he has no doubt Ethan _will_ go and kick Everett's ass, which isn't good for his job security. Or Ethan's, for that matter.

Will works on a couple more things, helps out a few juniors and begins packing up at 4:45, tired. If he has to look at another report he's going to kill someone.

He reflects on things on the drive back home. The field test fiasco should have screwed everything up, should have made Will want to kill Ethan every time he saw him - but it didn't. For a while there Will did hate Ethan, but he got over it, accepted that Ethan had done what he had to. Didn't mean he approved, but once he began to ease back into life in the field it wasn't so bad. Still took some time to forgive Ethan, but somewhere between the coffee and lunch and stuff Will realized he wasn't angry anymore.

Traffic's a bit slow this time of day, when everyone's returning from work and heading home. Will waits in his car for the roads to clear, absently observing the impatient yet resigned behavior of his fellow people on the road, and thinking, of all things, about Ethan.

He can't pinpoint the exact moment he and Ethan became friends, but if he has to choose he'll pick the first day Ethan arrived with lunch. He'd been working long and hard in the office, and around 1 PM Ethan just dropped in carrying a big brown bag. "Lunch," he explained when Will looked at him askance. "I figured you'd be hungry."

"Thank you," said Will, still a bit suspicious. Ethan bringing him lunch...? Something had to be up.

He figured it out halfway through his plate of restaurant-made spaghetti and meatballs. Ethan had made no secret of his guilt over the field test incident, or as Will thought of it, the Fucked-Up Ass Test (FUAT for short), and maybe this was his way of apologizing. He waited for Ethan to bring it up, but to his relief Ethan didn't, and they finished their lunch in companionable silence.

"Thank you," Will said again when he finished, and Ethan gave him the infamous Hunt smile.

"You're welcome, Will," he said. "You should take some time off, you know. Every once in a while. It'll be good for you."

Will just nodded and forced a smile back. "So - did you have something to do, here in HQ?"

"Nope," said Ethan lightly, "I was just hungry and then I thought you probably are too, because you're so busy all the time. I only ever see you on missions."

"It was... nice," Will said, gesturing towards the empty paper plate.

"I wouldn't mind bringing you something to eat every now and then," replied Ethan.

"No, it's okay," Will said hastily, but he knew there was no point. Ethan was going to do it anyway.

The next day Ethan grabbed him just after eleven, and forcibly dragged him for a walk that Will actually ended up enjoying. Funny how things were - he'd spent two years hoping he would never face Ethan Hunt again, and now he looked forward to his company.

So yeah, Will would say that's the moment he and Ethan became friends.

It's 5:45 PM when he finally gets home. He parks his Ghibli in the garage and walks to the elevator, thinking about getting himself some nice strong coffee and a microwaved meal. He nods at the landlord, who's taken to roaming the halls in his underwear for no reason that's known to mankind.

He's at the end of his hallway when he hears voices coming from his apartment, seemingly arguing. Immediately he tenses - he can take burglars, but he's unarmed and tired. The safest bet would be to call for backup, but he'll probably be already robbed blind in the time it takes for anyone to get there, and so he decides to go it alone.

His stance immediately changing, adapting for battle, he makes his way stealthily to his apartment door. The lock doesn't look jimmied, but that's not to say it wasn't picked. Quietly he turns the doorknob and pushes the door open, fully expecting to find someone in a ski mask carrying off his furniture–

"SURPRISE!"

The roar is unexpected and somewhat disorienting. Will blinks and finds himself facing his team, all of them dressed nicely and holding up a banner that screams _**HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WILL**_ in bright red colors. Benji's grinning from ear to ear, Jane's smiling too, and Ethan is holding an honest-to-God bright blue balloon in his hand.

"What's going on?" asks Will stupidly, stumbling in and setting his keys down on the dresser in the hallway.

"It's your birthday, stupid," says Jane, still smiling. She comes forward and hugs him and kisses his cheek. "So – happy birthday."

"You didn't have to do this," Will protests even as he hugs Jane back. "Really, there isn't any need-"

"Yes there is," insists Benji. "It's your _birthday_ , Will – that warrants a celebration, mate."

"Why?" asks Will, patting Benji's back as the tech hugs him. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, I really am, this is great, but – I haven't celebrated my birthday my entire life. No one even _knows_ what day it's on. How did you–?"

"I looked up your file," says Ethan with a smile. He doesn't hug Will, and Will is kind of grateful. The world would probably skid to a halt if Ethan hugs him. He doesn't think anyone needs that kind of disaster. Wars and shit.

"So you figured you'd throw me a party?" asks Will, somewhat incredulously.

Ethan claps him on the shoulder. "It's not really a party," he says. "Just the four of us, cake and food. No booze."

"No booze?" repeats Will, wondering how it's even considered a party without alcohol.

"No booze," confirms Jane. "Benji's a lightweight and while the entertainment would do us good, we all have work tomorrow and we can't afford to get hungover."

Will kind of hates it, but she's right. Logic sucks, sometimes.

It's actually kind of nice, though, his surprise party. He tries to control his emotions, to not feel a little overwhelmed, but it's hard. No one has ever bothered to remember his birthday, or even _know_ it, let alone celebrate it.

The cake is chocolate topped with vanilla, Will's favorite (though how his teammates know this he can't figure out), and soon enough it's smeared all over Will's face and Benji's clothes, courtesy of a food fight started by Benji. Ethan laughs and joins in, while Jane watches from the sidelines. They stop when there is more cake on their skin than in their mouths.

“Whoo, that was good,” cheers Benji, as he makes for the bathroom. “We should do that again sometime.”

“No,” says Jane at once. “Grow up, Benji.” But she's grinning, and so no one takes her seriously.

She cleans up the kitchen while Ethan and Will wait in line for the bathroom, and after everyone's done they settle down for sodas and whatever's on TV. Jane takes the single-seater and Benji settles on the ground, leaving the double-seater for Ethan and Will. Will supposes it should be awkward, considering how this is literally the first time in his life that he's sitting down with _friends_ in this manner, but it's really not, and he's grateful for that. It's nice to know that there are people who do enjoy his company, even when it's forced upon them (like on missions).

_Breaking Bad_ is on and Will is soon absorbed, even though this is the first time he's watching it. So absorbed, in fact, that when Ethan reaches out towards him he automatically grabs Ethan's wrist and makes a twisting motion. Ethan swears.

“For the love of God, Will! _Stop it!”_

“Sorry,” mutters Will even as Benji and Jane shush them. “You just startled me.”

Ethan just huffs, but Will can tell he's not mad. “Anyway,” says Ethan, “I was just trying to tell you that you've got a bit of cake here.” He reaches out and wipes the aforementioned bit of cake off the tip of Will's nose. The unexpected contact making him freeze, Will can only watch as Ethan wipes his fingers on a tissue and then uses the tissue to wipe the remainder off Will's face.

“What are you _doing_?” Will finally croaks.

“Getting rid of the cake,” answers Ethan nonchalantly, like he does this everyday. Will is beginning to hate his guts a _lot_.

“I could have done it myself!”

“I know.”

And that's it. With that, Ethan turns back to the show, and Will is left to mentally curse himself and Ethan both. Ethan Hunt is going to drive him insane, he's sure of it.

Benji and Jane leave when the show ends – they've all still got work tomorrow and it's getting late. They do look like they've enjoyed themselves, and Will is glad. This is the first time in his life he's celebrated his birthday, and it's been amazing. It's a bit overwhelming, in fact. He's still not used to the idea of friends, especially friends who do this kind of thing.

He sees Jane and Benji off and returns to his kitchen to find Ethan loading dishes into the dishwasher, looking for all the world like he owns the place.

"What are you doing?"

Ethan looks up casually and grins. "Doing the dishes."

"I can see that," replies Will, endeavoring to keep his tone the same shade of casual. " _Why_ are you doing the dishes?"

"Because they're dirty."

Will almost hits his own forehead. Ethan is making him feel like an idiot. So he sighs and shoves Ethan away, loading the rest of the dishes and setting the wash cycle. "Why haven't you left yet?" he asks when he's done, putting leftovers in the fridge and making his way back to the living-room.

"Don't feel like it," replies Ethan casually, and settles on the couch they'd previously been occupying.

There is a lot more free space available now that Benji and Jane have left, but Will still goes and sits besides Ethan. He doesn't know why, just that it's silly and stupid, but he can't make himself get up and sit somewhere else.

The silence gets awkward after a while (at least for Will; Ethan is sitting perfectly at ease, watching the TV on mute), and so he clears his throat and says, "So, um. Thank you. For today. It was... nice."

Ethan smiles at him. "Glad you think so. I was a bit worried you might kill one of us. Probably it would be me."

"No," mutters Will, rubbing the back of his neck. "I really wouldn't."

"You looked really surprised to see us," remarks Ethan. "Though I suppose that was kind of the point."

Another silence follows, and this time Ethan looks awkward too. Will feels a stab of glee at Ethan Hunt being uncomfortable, but it's squashed because well, he's also feeling uncomfortable.

Suddenly Ethan asks, "What did you mean, when you said you'd never celebrated your birthday before?"

"Just that," replies Will, wondering why the fuck, out of everything he's said, _that's_ the thing that grabs Ethan's attention.

"Are you serious?" asks Ethan incredulously. "Not even that embarrassing party parents throw their kids when they turn eleven, with all the gushing and stuff?"

Will snorts, a bitter, mirthless sound. "No, Ethan, because with the parents I've got, I'm lucky I'm even here at all, and not, you know, dead at birth."

"What does that mean?" asks Ethan, looking a little confused, and Will hates him a little for being so dense sometimes.

"It means, Ethan," he begins, wondering why he's even telling Ethan all this, "that my parents don't give a shit about me, and honestly, I'm lucky I ended up here and not a crack whore or something."

When Ethan doesn't reply, just looks shocked, Will sighs and says, "Look, just forget it, okay?"

"No." Ethan finally finds his voice. "No, Will, how can I forget it just like that? You can't just tell me something like that and then tell me to forget it!"

"Look, what do you want to know?" asks Will, a bit irritably. "Yeah, so I didn't exactly have a great childhood. Yeah, my parents were assholes. But I'm fine, aren't I? I think I could have turned out worse."

He stands to leave, but Ethan grabs his wrist. "Will," he says softly. "Sit. Please," he adds, and Will acquiesces.

"Ethan," he sighs. "I know you're curious, but there really isn't much I can tell you that isn't already in my file."

"I didn't look at that part of your file," Ethan tells him. "It seemed too... personal."

Will nods. "It is."

There is a pause, in which Will plays with the hem of his shirt, and Ethan wonders if there is any way he can ask Will without seeming intrusive or insensitive. He's spared the issue when Will asks, "Do you still want to know?"

"If it's okay with you," is Ethan's cautious answer. "It's up to you," he adds. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"But you'll probably go and read my file," Will points out.

"Not if you don't want me to," says Ethan, and Will is surprised. Usually Ethan just goes after whatever he wants. The fact that he's choosing to respect Will's wishes and privacy means a lot, it means that Ethan cares enough to defer to Will on this one.

It means a lot.

Will finally sits, and begins his story. "I was born at home. There was no midwife, and from what I've managed to piece together, it was a risky birth. I almost died.

"From the moment I was born my mother hated me. For some illogical reason she blamed me for the difficulties in birth, even though," he huffs a mirthless laugh, "I'm the one who almost didn't make it. My dad had never been in favor of having children in the first place, and he hated me the moment he saw me. Then again, he hates everyone, probably even my mother. In fact, you could say my birth was a good thing - it united them in their hatred of me."

The worst part is that Ethan doesn't even think that Will's exaggerating. No one could lie or exaggerate so smoothly while looking so... resigned. Even Will is not that good an actor. Besides, Will offered to tell him, so Will probably isn't going to lie.

In any case, he is quite familiar with Will's tell (he bites his lip in this really adorable way when he lies), and it's not showing right now.

Also, he is just going to ignore the fact that he called Will adorable.

"After I was born," Will says, and Ethan snaps out of it, "my parents didn't even bother to raise me. One of the neighbors looked after me until I was old enough, and after that I mostly took care of myself. I managed to beg and plead my way into a job when I was thirteen, mowing lawns and delivering papers and washing cars, stuff like that. At school I didn't have any friends, probably because all I ever did was study. There really wasn't much time for birthdays, you see, and in any case who would want to celebrate it?

"I made enough money to apply for college, and the only time I had an actual conversation with my dad - if it can be called that - is when I told him I was leaving. He - he didn't take it very well." Will stops, and runs a hand through his hair. Suddenly he looks completely exhausted, like the memory itself is draining him.

"He yelled for ten minutes before realizing I wasn't listening, and that's when things got nasty. He'd been drinking - he spends more time drunk than awake - and he threw the bottle at me. I moved out of the way. My mom stood at the side, not doing anything to stop him. Hell, she was encouraging him.

"The noise attracted the neighbors, and Mrs. Turner from next door - the one who'd raised me - she came over to see what was going on. She was old by then, and her youngest son had just graduated from college. She tried to reason with my mother, and when that didn't work, she tried to talk to my dad." Will smiled, a hollow, dead movement of his facial muscles. "You can see why that turned out to be a bad idea."

Ethan doesn't say anything, can't. He has no idea how to respond. Will intertwines his fingers and stares at them for some time, looking lost, and then suddenly shifts so that his head is in his hands and his elbows are resting on his thighs.

"The local police had had their eye on my dad for a while now, thanks to the teachers at school. Every time I'd show up with a bruise or a cut they'd just know it was him, and they called Social Services a lot, but my parents always managed to wave them off. They knew what was going on, but they couldn't prove it.

"Anyway - when the police arrived to find my dad holding a broken bottle of whiskey and Mrs. Turner bleeding out - an old, helpless lady - they didn't even wait. They arrested him right then, right there. My mom screamed at them not to take him away, because no matter how abusive the old bastard is she can't live without him. My mother wasn't really in her right mind then - and by that I mean she was stark raving mad - and so I was the one who had to testify against my dad in court. They ruled it as manslaughter, because this was the Bible belt, Mrs. Turner was black and segregation may have been over but discrimination wasn't. He got 12 years. Of course, my mother blamed me, but I'd already gotten out as soon as they told me I was no longer needed in court.

"College was fine. I breezed through because it was all easy. I'm not going to summarize my grades or anything; you probably already know from my file. I'd gotten picked up for a job by IMF before I graduated. If you saw my file you'd thing college was the best thing to ever happen to me.

"You'd be wrong."

Ethan tenses, wonders how things can possibly get worse. He doesn't have to think long; Will goes on, "A week before graduation I ran into some of my dad's old friends. They were all like him, and they were pretty mad at me because their buddy was in jail and they perceived it to be my fault. I tried to escape before they could see me, but I couldn't and they cornered me in the woods near my college.

"I don't really remember what happened that night. It's all really blurry, and honestly, I don't WANT to remember. I woke up the next morning in the hospital, and they told me I'd been sexually assaulted. Multiple times."

Ethan looks up at Will, feeling shocked and sick. Will's face is expressionless, like he's telling Ethan about someone else, someone who's not sitting next to him on the couch holding his head in his hands. Ethan represses the urge to reach out and touch him, jolt him out of whatever dark place his mind has forced him into.

"The police came to see me too," Will says, and Ethan forces himself to pay attention and not continue staring at Will, who's sitting back now. There is something stuck in his throat, and he can't do anything but listen in fresh horror. "Apparently I'd fought back, hard, and one of them was dead. Two were injured severely but they pulled through. Only one got out unscathed, and that's because the asshole ran the moment I began to fight.

"The cops told me they weren't pressing charges, since it was self-defense, but also that they couldn't prosecute the guys for what they did. Getting a conviction in a case of male-on-male rape was unheard of. I had to let it go.

"Anyway, a week later I was out of there as well and working for IMF. I trained as a field agent - and the rest you already know."

A long silence follows the end of Will's story. Sickened, Ethan wonders what to say, or whether saying something will even make a difference. Lines like _I'll always be there for you_ would just sound too fake and insincere, but there really is nothing else, is there?

Finally Ethan slowly extends his hand, and lays it over Will's. He doesn't say a word, and Will doesn't react to his actions. They sit there in absolute silence, Will's hand cold and slightly trembling under Ethan's warm, firm one, both of them not looking at each other.

Ethan's not sure how long it's been when Will speaks again, his voice slightly hoarse and shaking. "So... there you have it."

"I'm sorry," Ethan says after a second. "I shouldn't have made you tell me."

"You didn't," Will reminds him. "It was my choice."

Another silence follows, and after Will's voice it's absolutely deafening. Then Ethan says, "Would you mind if I stayed, tonight? It would put me at ease."

"How come?" Will's voice is still carefully devoid of any emotion.

"I... I don't want to leave you alone right now," Ethan admits. "It just wouldn't feel right. Besides, I think it would be better for you if I stay."

Will doesn't reply to that, just nods. Ethan already knows where everything is in Will's apartment - he can find himself a pillow and blanket and sleep on the couch. He's done it a couple times before, even after the FUAT.

They sit in a considerably easier silence for some more time, and Ethan realizes that Will hasn't taken his hand out from under Ethan's. The thought encourages him, and he shifts his hand so that it's gripping Will's tightly. Will tenses for a moment, and Ethan is fully prepared to be asked to leave, but then Will squeezes Ethan's finger lightly and sits still again.

They retire for bed some time later - neither is sure exactly how long has passed. The clock on the wall reads ten past midnight, and Will remembers he has work tomorrow.

"Don't," says Ethan when he sees Will's expression of slight panic, "don't worry about work, Will. Call in sick tomorrow."

"I can't–" begins Will, but Ethan cuts him off.

"You need the rest," he says gently, and Will gives in.

* * *

Ethan wakes up in the middle of the night, his bladder making its presence (and purpose) known. He gets off the couch and makes his way to the bathroom, passing Will's room on the way. It's quiet, and he's glad that Will's asleep.

He's wrong though; when he exits the bathroom five minutes later he can hear the sound of muffled sobbing coming through the door. Clearly Will's past is catching up, and for once in his life (but not the first time when it comes to Will), Ethan doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to intrude, not after everything Will's told him, feeling that this would be just too much invasion of privacy. Finally he just goes back to his couch, chest feeling heavy as lead and heart feeling like it's stuck in his throat again. Not for the first time, he wishes there's something he can do to help Will.

He doesn't sleep the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is welcomed :)
> 
> Oh, and this is Will's car, for anyone who's interested:


	4. Sit Down and Spill Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will won't stop risking his life for Ethan, who calls him out on it after he stupidly takes a knife to the stomach for him. Croatia comes up - _again_. Oh, and there are some things Will won't understand.
> 
> Like why Ethan's being so touchy-feely all of a sudden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait between updates. I'd written most of this chapter before my computer decided to be a traitorous little shit and eat it up. After that I kind of lost all motivation to write, considering I'd just lost around 2.5k words in an minute. Tonight I swore to myself I'd finish it though, so here it is.
> 
> Title's from _Someone to Save You_ by OneRepublic. Second time I'm borrowing a line from that song to use as a title. (First time was for a Teen Wolf fic - if you're in that fandom do please check it out ^-^)

“Arms dealer,” says Ethan. “We're going after an arms dealer. Jackson Bender.”

“All right, here's the plan,” begins Will. Ethan's let him do the planning on this one, and between them they've worked out a pretty sound strategy. “He's due tonight at a meeting with his supplier, at a nightclub in the red light district called The Opal. We find him, we tail him – that means masks, Benji,” he adds in for the techie's benefit. Benji grins like Christmas has come early. “I will strike up conversation and bug him, and Benji takes it from there. You're going to be listening in on _every_ conversation he has, no matter how trivial or silly it may sound. Jane, your job is to get cozy with his staff, see if there's anything you can find out.

“The meeting will in fact, be an ambush. Ethan will take out the supplier, and he'll be waiting for Bender when he arrives at the meeting point. The rest is cake.”

“Don't jinx it,” warns Benji. Then he asks, “So, masks. Who are we tonight?”

“I'm just going to be me,” begins Will, but Ethan cuts him off.

“Too dangerous,” he says. “People might remember you.” At Will's protesting face he quickly goes on, “I know it's not likely but I don't want to take any chances, okay? I don't want anyone getting hurt.”

“Okay, Momma Bear,” sighs Will, rolling his eyes and ignoring Ethan's frown at that. “We'll all wear masks, happy?”

Ethan just nods.

They take half an hour to go over the specifics of the plan and finalize each and every detail, after which they leave to get ready for their flight to Wisconsin, where Jackson Bender is located. They agree to meet at HQ an hour before their flight takes off.

_Well,_ thinks Will as he drives home,  _let's hope nothing goes to shit this time._

* * *

It does. Of fucking course it does.

Problem Numero Uno happens when Will tries to talk to Bender. The arms dealer is distracted and clearly not interested in whatever Will has to say, but he tries anyway. Eventually Bender just says, “Look, I'm sorry, but I can't talk right now, okay? Okay.” He walks off, but not before Will has clapped a hand on his shoulder in a friendly farewell, and thus succeeded in planting the bug on him. The downside is that Bender now looks suspicious, and keeps looking over his shoulder.

Problem Numero Dos happens when the bug decides to stop working, right then and there. Benji panics a little, and Jane proposes just going in and taking him out, but Will and Ethan tell them to wait.

Problem Numero Tre doesn't happen until Ethan is settled in the waiting room, waiting for Bender. Will shadows him as he weaves through the room, talking into a Bluetooth headset. “There's someone after me,” Bender's saying, and Will freezes, concentrating harder. “And I think Marco has been compromised. He said he'd call me to let me know whether the meeting is still on or not, but he hasn't.”

_Shit_ , thinks Will, and pulls out his cell phone to text Ethan. They can still save the mission if they work fast, but if Bender calls his meeting off they're screwed. He's a hard son of a bitch to track down.

_Marco was supposed to call Bender to confirm the meeting. -W_

Ethan's reply is almost instantaneous.

**Marco is currently unconscious in the back of our van. -E**

_Text Bender, maybe? -W_

**No way, it's too suspicious. He'll be on to us. -E**

_So what do we do? -W_

**Standby. I'll think of something. Let me know if you got anything. -E**

Another text arrives two seconds later.

**And Will? Take care. -E**

Before Will can ponder this strange text – Ethan isn't one for sentimentality, at least during missions – Bender finishes his conversation and turns around, looking straight at Will. Will puts his cell phone inside his pocket and smiles politely. Bender is almost face-to-face with him now.

“Hello,” he says pleasantly. “We were talking earlier. Mr. Matheson, am I right?”

Will nods. “Yes, but please call me James.”

“I apologize for my rudeness earlier; I was a bit distracted,” says Bender. “I thought I should come over and say hello.”

Will smiles and says nothing, but feels troubled. _What...?_ From afar he can see Jane looking at them, eyes narrowed. She murmurs something into her phone, and Will hears Ethan's voice in his headset a second later.

“Be careful, Will. Jane, remain on standby. Keep an eye on Bender and Will. Benji – try to trace who he was calling.”

“On it,” reply Jane and Benji in unison.

“You were telling me about your business?” inquires Bender, and Will nods, launching into the rags-to-riches tale of his extremely successful, extremely fictional scrap metal business. Bender listens with polite interest for a while, and then says, “Would you like to step outside? It's a little difficult to hear you over all this noise.”

Everything inside Will (including the voices in his headset) screams _ NO! _ However, this is possibly their only chance to subdue Bender, and so he agrees. “Yeah, sure,” he says, and begins following Bender outside.

“Will, _no_ ,” comes Ethan's emphatic voice in his ear.

“It's okay,” he whispers, careful that Bender doesn't hear. “I can take him out.”

An apprehensive pause follows, and then Ethan says, for the third time, “Be careful, Will.”

Will opens his mouth to reply, but just then they exit into the open air, and Bender turns to look at him. The smirk on his face just confirms the bad feeling in the pit of Will's stomach. “You thought I wouldn't notice,” says Bender, his smirk increasing in width as a few bodyguards step out of the shadows in the alleyway. “You've been following me all evening, haven't you, Mr. Matheson? To intercept my meeting, I presume.”

Will doesn't say anything. He just hopes someone's got a plan, because he can see no way out of this. The alley is a dead end, the street side being blocked by six men in suits and dark glasses (even though it's night). The door to The Opal is cut off from Will by yet another suit. He can take two, maybe three of them if it comes to that, but not more than that. He's outnumbered and overpowered, his gun feeling more of a dead weight against his back than of any real use.

Well, _shit_.

Four suits, he counts. Plus Bender. He _knows_ he can't take them out, but he also knows that he has to try. Right now, his only hope is to keep Bender talking till his team catches wind of the situation and comes in to help out.

“Well, sort of,” he answers casually.

“You're the reason Marco didn't call,” Bender states, and Will nods. “And – let me guess. If I come quietly there will be less trouble.”

Will snorts at that. “What do you think this is, some kind of movie?”

“Not at all,” says Bender pleasantly. “You see, in the movies, the good guys always win. That is not always the case in real life.”

“You tell me,” says Will agreeably. “Though the entire good guy winning thing's been working out good for me so far.”

“Will, stand by,” Ethan speaks in his ear, voice suddenly alert and tense. “Do _not_ try to take them all on. I'm on my way.”

Benji rambles off Will's location, and Ethan speaks again. “Stay where you are, okay? I'm coming. Keep him talking.”

Will tries not to let his body betray his relief. He tunes his teammates out and instead turns back to Bender, who's saying something along the lines of “I'm awesome and I'll win and you'll pay bla bla bla...” Will wonders if there's only a single monologue listed in the Bad Guy Handbook. All of them use literally the same few lines, with only small contextual changes.

It's beginning to get really boring, truth be told.

“Almost there, Will, just hang on,” murmurs Ethan. “Keep him talking.”

Will feels a stab of annoyance, because he _knows_ what to do and he _could_ take them on if he wanted to, so where does Ethan get off treating him like a rookie? But he sucks it up for the time being and focuses his full attention on Bender, who's _still talking,_ oh God can't he just please _shut up_.

“To conclude,” he's saying, “it will be a lot easier for you, Mr. Matheson, if you turn around and leave. Pretend this never happened. I promise I will not come after you.”

“Yeah?” asks Will, raising an eyebrow. “What's in it for me?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars,” says Bender promptly. “Waiting for you in your bank account.”

Will snorts. “Okay, first off, why would I give my bank account details to you, for _any_ reason? Secondly, I don't know if you've noticed or not, but I'm one of the good guys. We don't take bribes and we don't just 'turn around and leave', you know.”

“You're taking this good and bad thing quite seriously, aren't you?” inquires Bender. “Oh well, then. I did try to keep it simple. Just please don't blame me when you leave here in a body bag.”

“Not likely,” Will tells him. The entire conversation is proceeding like a casual back-and-forth on football and the weather. Bender's tone is carefully, calculatedly nonchalant, and Will, already a master, is playing along.

He detects movement out of the corner of his eye and tenses immediately – and then sees what's different. Bender is now standing alone, whereas previously he was flanked by bodyguards on both sides, with the other two behind Will.

Ethan's here, and he's somehow managed to take down the bodyguards without making even the smallest sound. Will feels a sudden burst of affection for the man, and all previous traces of ire have vanished.

Bender, who has been too busy talking to notice a thing, says, “I don't see how you can overpower me, Mr. Matheson. You are outnumbered five to one.”

Will keeps playing along like nothing has happened. “What, you're going to fight too?”

Bender grins and moves aside his jacket to display the ornately-carved handle of some fancy knife. “I am quite good with a blade, Mr. Matheson. It is, shall we say, a hobby.”

Will can see Ethan now – he's standing behind Bender rolling his eyes at Bender's exaggerated mannerisms and speech. Will suppresses the urge to grin. Oh, this should be _fun_.

“Hobbies aren't really helpful when _you're_ outnumbered,” Will says lightly.

“What?” Bender blinks, uncomprehending, and _finally_ notices that there is no one standing behind Will. “How–?” he wonders loudly, and turns around to look for the other two – going smack into a grinning Ethan.

“Hello,” Ethan greets him pleasantly, before clocking him on the jaw.

Bender whirls and immediately dances out of the way, pulling his knife out in one fluid movement. He was right about being good with a blade, and immediately Will can see they've underestimated him. Ethan, who was planning on utilizing the offensive, is now cornered and on the defensive, warding off Bender's attacks with absolutely no time to get in any of his own.

Bender's one mistake, though, is turning his back to Will, who hurls himself at the man and pulls him off Ethan. Now it's him struggling to stay out of the range of Bender's knife, which is a _beauty_ , he has to admit. It's more of a dagger, really, with a curved blade and the tip sharpened to a point–

Will dimly registers the cold pain on his right arm, and decides to save the weapons appreciation for later. He's dodged just in time, or the knife would easily have scooped his flesh out of his arm like seeds out of a pumpkin. “Careful!” he can hear Ethan calling from behind Bender. There is the silver glint of metal, and Will glimpses the gun Ethan has on Bender.

“We need him _alive!”_ he yells, just to remind Ethan that it's probably a good idea not to kill this bastard.

“I'm not planning on killing him,” Ethan informs Will, and shoots.

The bullet misses, mainly because Bender won't stay still long enough for Ethan to be able to aim properly. He's still intent on eviscerating Will, and Will knows that he can't hold out for much longer. The cut on his arm, while not deep, is bleeding freely, and the blood is making it hard for him to attack properly. The warmth flowing down his arm and making his hands sticky is just too distracting.

Absently he thinks, _this was a good suit_. _Comfortable._

“Hey, asshole!” yells Ethan, effectively distracting Bender. “Over here!”

Evidently considering Will no longer a threat (another mistake, it turns out), Bender turns to face Ethan. “Did you know,” he pants, “that at close range a knife is _much_ faster than a bullet?”

“Yes, I did, in fact,” Ethan tells him, discarding the gun and taking out his own knife.

What happens next is too fast for Will to register. Ethan throws his knife, watches as it flies in a deadly arc right at Bender – and misses, as Bender dodges. Understanding what's going to happen next, Ethan tries to move, only to find himself trapped at the dead end of the alley. Without thinking about it, Will moves, launches himself at Bender with only one thought running through his mind – _don't let him hit Ethan._

There is a warmth concentrated somewhere in the region of his stomach, and he can smell blood. He can hear Ethan screaming as if he's underwater, but he doesn't actually realize that it's _his_ blood until the pain sets in, sharp and white-hot and unrelenting. He falls to his knees, hands pressed over his wound, and mutters, “Fuck.”

There are already black spots dancing around his vision, and he's breathing _really fast_ but he can't seem to get any air into his lungs. He's never been shot or stabbed in the abdomen before, and the entire experience is something he thinks he could have lived without. Then again, job like he has, what else does he expect, right? He should have become an accountant or a lawyer or something like that. Would have been boring, but at least he wouldn't have to fear for his life on a daily basis.

He giggles as he realizes the direction his thoughts are going in. He struggles to list the effects of blood loss in his head – dizziness, _check_ ; confusion, _check_ ; respiratory distress, _check_. He can't hear Bender anymore, and assumes Ethan has probably knocked him out. Ethan's voice, still yelling something, goes in and out of his ears.

“… fucking ambulance! … not much time, Benji! … HURRY UP!”

And suddenly Ethan's holding him upright, wiping the blood that's dripping from his lips. “Hold on, Will,” he orders, voice commanding, and Will obeys almost involuntarily. “You're _not_ going to die, you hear me? _You fucking hear me_?”

“Don't yell,” Will croaks at him, managing to sound annoyed even in the condition he's in.

Ethan looks like he's fighting a laugh, if only for the gravity of the situation. “Okay, sorry,” he says. “Honestly, though, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“Had to save you,” Will points out shortly, practically gasping for breath at this point. “He would have... stabbed you.”

“I'm aware, Will,” Ethan tells him. “You don't have to continue looking out for me, you know.”

Will snorts through the blood pooling in his mouth. “Your ass would be... _so dead_... without me.”

Ethan shakes his head, but Will can see a small smile on his face. He focuses on that, focuses on the anchor it provides ( _he didn't fail and Ethan is alive_ ). Everything else is blurry, and he thinks he's going to pass out soon.

Or right now. Probably right now.

“Will, dammit, hold on,” curses Ethan. “The ambulance is gonna be here in a minute, just hang in there, okay?”

Will just grins at him before blacking out.

* * *

He comes to with a jolt, blinking awake and trying to get upright. A sharp pain in his abdomen stops him, plus the stiff sensation of layers of bandaging in that area. Ethan is sitting by his bedside with his arms crossed, watching him closely. He doesn't make any effort to help, and Will soon sees why – he's livid, face actually bright-red with suppressed anger.

“How long have I been out?” Will asks, voice hoarse.

“A day and a half,” Ethan tells him, voice betraying no emotion. Quite an impressive feat, considering his facial expression. “Don't move too much or you'll tear your stitches.”

Will settles down again and then asks, “Where are Jane and Benji?”

“HQ,” is the brief answer.

“Bender?”

“Successfully apprehended.”

“Good.” Will sinks back into the covers, closing his eyes. This short conversation has already tired him. He opens his eyes again a moment later. “And you? Are you all right?”

Ethan nods wordlessly. Will decides not to ask him why exactly he resembles a tomato right now – he _knows_ why Ethan's angry but that doesn't mean he needs to have this discussion now. So he closes his eyes again and murmurs, “Goodnight,” even though it's not night and he's not remotely sleepy.

“You're not getting off that easy,” snaps Ethan, and Will blinks his eyes open. “What the hell were you thinking, Will?”

“He was going to stab you, and I couldn't let that happen,” Will replies simply.

“Why not?” demands Ethan.

Will remains silent.

“Why not?” repeats Ethan angrily. “Will, if this is some stupid leftover guilt from Croatia thing–” He stops, and then narrows his eyes at Will. “That's what this is, isn't it?” he asks quietly. “This is about Croatia.”

“You don't get it,” Will tells him, his voice quite steady despite the horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. “You don't understand, Ethan, you don't know what it was like for me. What it felt like.”

“Then tell me.” Ethan's voice is softer, and his face is slowly returning to its normal color. “Tell me, Will. Help me out here so I can help _you_.”

Will doesn't even try to deny that he needs help. He's known it quite for some time now. The problem is, his issue isn't something a therapist can help with. A therapist can't absolve him of his guilt, can't wash away his crimes.

“Tell me,” repeats Ethan, inching his chair closer to Will's bed. “Tell me what it felt like, Will.”

It's the way Ethan says his name that drives Will to speak. No one's ever said his name that way before, with an undertone of sincerity masked with concern. Ethan actually cares about him, about _Will_ , and that in itself seems like the biggest miracle.

“It felt like failure,” he whispers. “It still does. And Ethan – I can't fail again. I was helpless the last time. I can't be helpless again, Ethan, I _can't_. I won't let myself be.”

He half-expects Ethan to get exasperated and tell him to man the fuck up and get over Croatia, but Ethan doesn't. Instead he just sighs softly and says, “What do I have to do, Will, to convince you that you're not useless? You're not a failure, Will. You _saved_ me today. You saved me in Dubai hours after we'd met for the first time. You've been crucial to every mission you've had with us. Will... we're a team. Everyone's equally important in a team. But you?” He looks earnestly at Will. “Will, without you, this team would fall apart.”

Will presses his lips together, closes his eyes. There is a prickling feeling behind his eyeballs. “Ethan, I can't let anyone down. I can't, okay? Least of all you. And if feeling like shit is the only way to make sure I can save our asses, then I can live with that.”

Ethan's expression changes; he looks like he's resisting the urge to roll his eyes at Will's pigheadedness. “It's not the only way,” he argues. “You need to see that, Will – you need to see yourself the way everyone else does.” Will scoffs, but Ethan doesn't allow him to speak. He goes on, “You need to stop doubting yourself. Please.”

Will opens his eyes and stares at Ethan, the last word doing funny things to his stomach. “As long as I can function efficiently on missions, why do you even care how I feel?” he questions.

“Because you're my friend,” Ethan answers him softly. “And your feelings, fucked up as they may be, matter to me.”

Speechless and stunned, Will can only watch as Ethan continues looking at him earnestly. There is something about the man's face – he looks completely open, guard down, and Will doesn't have to be an analyst to know he's completely sincere. “Okay,” he finally manages to say. “Okay, Ethan.”

“Okay, what?” Ethan asks, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Will rolls his eyes. “Okay, Ethan, I'll try to unfuck-up my feelings.”

Ethan grins at Will's phrase. “I'm holding you to that.”

Will just smiles tiredly. The conversation has worn him out, and all he wants to do now is sleep. The painkillers in his system aren't exactly helping him stay awake, either. There's just one more thing, though, that he needs to ask Ethan, but right now it seems to have slipped his mind.

He yawns. “There was something I wanted to ask,” he mutters, “but I've forgotten.”

“It can wait,” Ethan answers, putting his hand on Will's shoulder like it's something he does everyday. “Get some sleep, Will.”

Will nods. “I think I will,” he answers drowsily. “What are you going to do in the meanwhile?”

“I've got to write up a report on the mission,” Ethan tells him. “Haven't done that yet, due to, you know, waiting for you to wake up so I could yell at you.”

Will grins sleepily, though there's a swoop of disappointment in his belly that he just can't explain. If Ethan sees it he doesn't say so. “Sleep, Will,” he says. “Rest. You'll be better soon.”

Will obeys, closing his eyes and drifting off almost at once.

* * *

He floats in and out of consciousness, catching snippets of conversation here and there. Sometimes it's a nurse. A couple of times it was Jane and Benji, inquiring after his health. Mostly it's just Ethan, telling him to get some rest in a soothing, soft tone. Will would question that last one, but he always drifts off again before he can really think about it.

He wakes up later to the sound of muted beeping and soft snores. There is a warm something covering his hand. He opens his eyes to find Ethan asleep in his chair, his head resting on the bed and his hand covering Will's.

There's something stuck in Will's throat, and the prickling in his eyes is back. He blinks once or twice to clear his eyes, and wipes away a stray tear with the back of his other hand. The slight movement wakes Ethan up. “Hey,” he says sleepily. “You're up again.”

Will just nods, not knowing what to say. Ethan doesn't take his hand away from Will's, doesn't even acknowledge it. Like it's something normal, so ordinary that it doesn't need to be mentioned.

Will wonders why it's okay with him. He finds he doesn't really care.

“It's the middle of the night, Will,” Ethan informs him. “Go back to sleep. Unless you don't want to? I don't mind staying up with you.”

Will shakes his head. “It's all right,” he finally says. “I'll just go back to sleep.”

Ethan nods and smiles at him. “Okay, then.” He moves to rest his head back on the bed again.

“Wait, just one more thing.” Will remembers what he wanted to ask earlier. “I just wanted to ask you... how come you're doing all this? I mean, I get the friends bit, but you really don't have to make yourself uncomfortable or anything by staying. You could go home.”

“Do you want me to?” asks Ethan, watching Will intently.

“No,” admits Will, surprising them both. He decides to blame the painkillers for that particular admission.

“Then I'll stay,” Ethan says with a smile.

“But – why?” asks Will. He may be new to the entire _friends_ concept but even he knows that people don't go out of their way for new friends, the way Ethan's doing. At a later stage of friendship, maybe, but certainly not right after acknowledging it for the first time.

“You won't understand,” Ethan says after a moment of thought. “Not right now.”

“Explain, then,” Will demands, then yawns before he can stop himself.

“Not now,” Ethan says again, and offers Will another smile. “Later, okay? When you're not stuffed with painkillers and subsequently drowsy.”

“Fair enough,” agrees Will. “But you _have_ to explain, okay?”

Ethan nods. “Goodnight, Will.”

“'Night.”

Will closes his eyes, and Ethan's callused thumb slowly rubbing over his knuckles lulls him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that wasn't too bad, for a chapter rewritten in one sitting. Let me know what you think :)
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://joeremy-renner.tumblr.com/), if you don't mind numerous multifandom reblog and feels explosions.


	5. The One With the Blanket Fort, Hot Chocolate and Disney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is sick!Will, sick!Ethan, a blanket fort, hot chocolate, _The Lion King_ , sleepy cuddles... and Ethan has feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relatively short chapter, this, but it's one of my favorites. I hope you guys enjoy this as well :)

Strangely enough, Benji is the first one to notice the symptoms.

“Are you all right?” he asks, concerned, when Will yawns for the fourth time in five minutes. They're all settled in Ethan's living-room, discussing an assignment Brassel's put them on, and Will's in charge of outlining the basics, explaining the scenario to them.

“I'm fine,” Will tells him, but Ethan's already extending a hand in his direction. “I'm _fine_ ,” he repeats emphatically, batting Ethan's hand away.

Not to be deterred, Ethan grabs Will and puts his hand on his forehead. Will, annoyed, jabs Ethan in the side, but Ethan's already done. “You've got a fever,” he says, frowning. “Do you feel sick?”

“I told you, I'm fine,” Will says impatiently. “It'll go away in a bit. Can we focus on the assignment, please?”

“Okay,” Ethan says, giving in. Jane narrows her eyes in his direction, before nodding at them.

Will goes on to explain the details, and then assigns them different jobs. It's not a mission, per se, more of a long-winded report, but they're going to need to do extensive research for it. Brassel wants it in two months, which is enough time, but Ethan felt it would be best to get a move on, so here they are.

“Ethan, you look pale,” Benji points out some time later, when Will's finished with his bit. “Are you sure you're not ill, either?”

Ethan, in true obstinate fashion, says, “I'm fine.”

This time it's Will who wrestles Ethan into submission before palming his forehead (Ethan will swear to his dying day that Will was grinning evilly as he did it), and declares triumphantly, “You've got a fever too.” He restrains himself from tacking on a _HAHA_ with great difficulty.

Jane rolls her eyes at them. “Will, are you okay to drive home?” she asks.

“Yeah yeah, it's all good,” Will tells her. “I've had worse.” Which is true. The scar on his abdomen is proof enough. It's been a couple of months since he's been released from the hospital after the Bender mission, but sometimes he thinks he still feels a phantom pain in the scar tissue.

“Okay, then,” Jane says. “You two take care of yourselves, okay? I'll call in the morning and check up.”

Will offers her a smile. Whereas someone else would be smothered and annoyed by all the mothering Jane's up to, he welcomes it. He's never had something like that in his life before, after all. “Thank you,” he says to her.

She smiles back affectionately. “Rest, okay?” she says. “Or it'll get worse. And don't overwork yourselves, that's probably what brought it on in the first place.”

Ethan sees them all to the door, and then goes to make himself a cup of green tea before bed. He'd never been a fan of the stuff, but Julia used to drink it and that's where he's picked up the habit. He smiles as he thinks of her. He does miss her, sometimes, but it doesn't feel as bad as it used to. He'd told Luther that what he saw in her was the chance for a normal life, and while that was true, there had definitely had been love as well.

He wishes he could call her, just to chat, but he knows he can't. Best not to. He's moved on, and he's sure she has too. He doesn't wish to complicate matters further.

Besides... where he had Julia before, he has three great friends now. Especially Will, whom he sees everyday, has lunch with and sometimes texts. It's nice to have someone to talk to, even if it's just mundane banter. Will keeps him from being alone, and he knows he helps alleviates Will's loneliness as well.

He falls asleep thinking of how nice Will's voice sounds when he's happy.

* * *

He's woken in the middle of the night by his phone ringing. The caller ID says  _Will Brandt_ , and he's immediately wide awake and on high alert. “Will?” he says into his phone the moment he picks up. “Will, are you okay?”

“I'm fine, fine-ish,” Will answers, and Ethan doesn't like how tired his voice sounds. “I just. I can't. I can't get home?” It sounds like a question.

“What's wrong?” Ethan asks, springing out of bed and shoving his feet into his shoes even as he tries to get into his pants.

“Nothing, nothing's wrong,” Will tells him. “Everything's nice and good and it's all fine.” He's rambling, Ethan realizes. “I just feel dizzy? And um, I can't keep my eyes open.”

“Dammit, Will,” curses Ethan, tugging a shirt on. He foregoes the process of buttoning it up, and gropes around on his dresser for his car keys. “Why did you drive if you didn't feel well?”

“I felt okay before,” protests Will. “I just don't feel okay now. You should be glad I decided to stop and call you and not, you know, drive all the way home, because that's totally what you would have done. Because you're a stubborn bastard with too much pride, y'know? No offense. But you are.”

“You're delirious,” Ethan tells Will.

“I know,” Will answers, and he honest-to-God giggles. _Giggles_. “You should really see the stars. They're pretty tonight.”

Ethan rolls his eyes before he remembers Will can't see him. “Where are you?” he asks.

“Um, like, twenty minutes from your place?” Will answers. “Like, there's a Walmart nearby.”

“Will, you live _ten minutes_ from my place,” Ethan says impatiently, locking his front door and striding down the hallway to the elevator. “Where _exactly_ are you?”

“I'll – I'll text you my coordinates?”

“Yeah, do that.”

“Okay.” Will hangs up. Ethan jabs at the elevator buttons, willing it to hurry up.

Will texts a couple of minutes later, when Ethan's in the car. Heaving a sigh of relief, Ethan feeds the coordinates into his GPS system and follows the directions. Trust Will to drive with a fever and get himself lost. For a highly-trained IMF agent, the man can be a total infant at times.

Of course, Ethan isn't any better himself, but he's not going to reflect on his own occasional bouts of immaturity now.

He finds Will's Ghibli pulled over on the shoulder, across the road from a Walmart like he'd said. The car glows silver in the moonlight. Will's sitting inside, head resting on the steering wheel. Ethan makes his way closer, and lightly taps the window, hoping not to startle Will.

It's a testament to just how tired Will is, that he doesn't jump more than a little bit. He opens the door and offers Ethan an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he says, “to make you drive all the way out here. I mean, I know you're sick too, and I–”

“Will, it's okay,” Ethan says. “It's not that bad. And you'll be fine by morning.”

Will nods. “Yeah, I know. Not the first time this has happened.” He turns off the ignition, grabs his wallet and gets out of the car. He looks steady on his feet, though, and Ethan takes that as a good sign.

He waits till Will's settled in the passenger seat of his Porsche, and then asks, “So, how are you feeling?”

“I'm all right,” Will answers with a little shrug. He doesn't seem very delirious any more – also a good sign. “I think my fever's going down.”

Ethan takes one hand off the wheel to check. Sure enough, Will's skin feels cooler than it did before. “Yeah,” he confirms, just to see Will watching him closely. “What?” he asks, squirming a little under the scrutiny. Normally people's gazes don't bother him, but it's something about Will's piercing blue-gray eyes that make him feel like he's being observed, that every movement of his is being catalogued and stored in Will's mind.

Of course, it could just be because Will's an analyst, and notices everything.

“You have a mother-hen streak,” Will informs Ethan. “You tend to get... protective, you know?”

“I do _not_ ,” is Ethan's witty retort. Will thinks he's a mother-hen? Um, _what_?

“You do,” Will insists. “You look out for people more than you're required to. You didn't _need_ to stay with me in the hospital. You didn't _need_ to keep checking me for fever every other minute. But you did anyway.”

“I'm just concerned, that's all,” Ethan says, a little defensively.

“No, you have an overprotective streak a mile wide,” laughs Will. “Trust me, I'm an analyst. I notice these things about people. At this point it's basically instinct to observe people, gain as much information as I can, you know? And if I can save lives... then I'm gonna keep doing it.”

Ethan blinks a little at the unasked for (but definitely not _unwanted_ , nope, Will's voice is wonderful) speech. “Passionate about your job, aren't you?”

Will laughs again, and Ethan feels pleased with himself. Nice sound, that. “Ethan, I _have_ to be. Who else is gonna do it?”

“True,” muses Ethan. “I've never met anyone smarter than you. And I'm not just saying that,” he adds when he spots Will's slightly incredulous look.

Much to his surprise, Will doesn't argue, just accepts it. Then his lips quirk in a small smile. “What?” asks Ethan, making the last turn before his street.

“There it is again,” Will grins. “That protective, mother-hen thing.”

“All I did was tell the truth,” Ethan points out.

“Okay, Ethan,” concedes Will with another laugh. At that point Ethan decides _fuck it_ , if it makes Will laugh he's going to keep doing whatever it is that Will thinks he's doing.

He turns into the car park of his building and finds his spot. It takes him longer than usual to park because the fever's taking its toll, and he feels extremely tired all of a sudden. It takes him some more time to realize Will has gone silent. “What is it?” he asks.

“I thought you were gonna drop me off at my place,” Will answers.

“You didn't actually specify where you wanted to go,” Ethan points out. “And in any case, I think it's better you stay here? Like, if anything happens you won't be alone.”

“It's just a fever,” Will says, but he's smiling again. “Mother-hen,” he accuses, a second later.

Ethan just rolls his eyes.

* * *

None of them feel too sleepy after that, though, so Ethan goes into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. He swears up and down that it's helped with his fevers since he was a kid, and Will laughs and tells him to go ahead. Ethan, goofy grin plastered on his own face, proceeds.

He returns to the living-room with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, only to find it considerably different from when he'd left. Will's taken the cushions off his couch and made some kind of – there's no other word for it – _blanket fort_ , complete with Ethan's comforter and spare quilts draped all over it. The TV is on, and the DVD menu for _The Lion King_ is up on the screen.

“Will?” says Ethan, his question evident in his tone.

“What?” replies Will defensively. “It's nice.”

“Yeah, I didn't say it wasn't,” Ethan says, setting the mugs on the floor – the coffee table is lying on its side and serves as one of the walls of the blanket fort – and sits down next to Will, back against the couch and the cushions forming a roof overhead. Ethan has no idea how Will's making it sturdy enough not to collapse, but he doesn't ask.

“I like it,” Will says. “It's small and cozy and comfortable.”

Ethan just smiles and offers Will his mug. “So – _The Lion King_?”

“Yep,” is all Will says, and starts the movie.

Ethan tries, he really does, to focus on the movie, and not on the fact that Will is practically squished into his side, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee. He tries not to think about the way Will holds his mug, the way he watches the movie intently like it's a case and not an animated movie about talking animals, the way he clutches Ethan's arm and mutters a faint “ _Oh”_ when Mufasa dies, the way he sings along to every song in the movie. Ethan likes to think he knows Will better than anyone else, but even he's never seen Will like this. He's completely relaxed, totally serene and open in such a way that it makes Ethan's chest hurt a bit just to see. He wishes Will would be like this all the time, but he also understands why that's not possible. Not with the kind of jobs they have.

The movie ends and the menu shows up again, at which point Ethan sees that it's those four-in-one kind of DVDs, and the next movie on is the sequel. “Wanna see?” Will asks, fingers hovering over the remote, and Ethan nods.

“Sure, why not?”

So Will plays the second movie, and relaxes back into Ethan's side. His skin is cooler now, and Ethan feels considerably better himself. Strictly speaking, there's absolutely no need for them to be squeezed together in a tiny blanket fort, watching old school Disney, but Ethan can't find it within himself to complain.

They're halfway through the movie when Ethan feels Will grow heavy, and realizes he's fallen asleep with his head on Will's shoulder. A warm something shoots up his chest at that. This is Will at his most vulnerable. This is a Will who trusts him so completely that he doesn't mind staying at Ethan's when he's sick and therefore weak; who makes himself at home and is comfortable enough to make blanket forts and watch Disney; who has no qualms falling asleep on Ethan's shoulder like it's the most normal thing in the world to do.

Ethan considers Will's sleeping face for a moment, notices how the lines around his eyes have smoothed out and how his entire body is relaxed in a way that it never is when he's awake. Ethan realizes that if it wasn't for being sick he probably would not have seen Will this way, ever, but he doesn't care. He's just glad he _did_ get to see this side of Will, that Will trusted him enough to show it.

On a whim he dips his head and presses a soft kiss to Will's forehead. Will doesn't stir, which is testament to just how deeply he's asleep. With a soft smile to himself, Ethan uses his free hand to grab a nearby blanket and spread it over the two of them. He isn't looking forward to how awkward this is going to be in the morning, but right now he doesn't want to dwell on that.

His last thought before he falls asleep is a realization – _I think I might be falling for him._


	6. Tried to Cut These Corners (Take the Easy Way Out) (Pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan ignores his team completely, unable to face Will. He turns to Luther for help in sorting out his thoughts. Luther offers advice, and Ethan takes Will out for dinner. It quickly goes downhill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from _On Top of the World_ by Imagine Dragons. In case you guys haven't realized by now, I'm absolute shit at titles.
> 
> Shoutout to [Iz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_izhyper/) for being the awesomest friend ever and commenting on this and generally making me feel like I'm doing something right. I adore the everliving shit out of you, bro. *solemn hugs*
> 
> Enjoy :)

_I’ve tried to cut these corners_   
_Try to take the easy way out_   
_I kept on falling short of something_

**Imagine Dragons - On Top of the World**

* * *

 

Ethan paces up and down the length of his living-room, trying very desperately to ignore the text alerts coming from his phone. He hasn't seen any of his team in the past four days, not after the initial meeting about Brassel's assignment. And he hasn't talked to anyone either. Not even Will. He hasn't even checked his phone.

He gives in to his need, and picks up his phone from the coffee table (which he's forever going to associate with blanket forts and Will pressed into his side, sleeping contentedly). _9 Missed Calls_ , it says. Two are from Benji, two from Jane, and five from Will.

Five.

Ethan feels like shit.

There are 18 unread text messages as well. Ethan goes through them, and deletes the ones from Jane and Benji without reading them. They all say something alone the lines of _where are you answer us you idiot_ , and he doesn't want to deal with that right now. He does go through all of Will's messages, though. They're all from the day after he stayed over.

(09:30) _Hey, thanks for dealing with me last night. Hope it wasn't too much of a bother. -W_

(09:37) _By the way I'm sorry I had to leave early, HQ called, and I didn't want to wake you up. -W_

That would explain why Ethan woke up alone in the blanket fort. Initially he thought Will had regretted staying over and falling asleep on Ethan's shoulder, but of course if HQ called then Will had to go. And of course, because he's a selfless, considerate moron he didn't wake Ethan up.

Ethan squashes his disappointment at not getting to see him in the morning, and reads the rest of the texts.

(11:46) _Oh, Brassel's taking me off the case that HQ called me for, so we can finish his assignment. Looks like I'm free, then. -W_

(12:01) _Wanna go out for lunch? -W_

(12:57) _I'm gonna be at that Olive Garden near the office, so if you're in, be there around 2. -W_

There's a horrible feeling in the pit of Ethan's stomach. Will asked him out for lunch... and now he probably thinks Ethan showed him up. Or is receiving his texts and ignoring him. He thinks of Will sitting alone, waiting for him, checking his watch every few minutes, before finally sighing, getting up and leaving. The image leaves him with an additional twist in his gut.

(15:25) _Look, if you didn't want to come you could have at least said so. -W_

(16:02) _You don't reply, I'm going to think you're ignoring me. -W_

(16:04) _Are you? Ignoring me, that is?_ - _W_

(16:12) _Is it something I did? -W_

The sick feeling's getting worse with each passing text, and by this point Ethan feels physically ill. He can feel the beginnings of a headache, and absently he massages his temples with his fingers as he scrolls.

(16:32) _Hey, if it's something I did, I'm sorry, okay? But in my defense, since I don't know what it was that I did, I didn't know I was doing it. -W_

(16:40) _If you're going to ignore me at least let me know why. At least, I can only assume you're ignoring me because the only other reason you wouldn't_

(16:41) _answer my texts is if you're dead in a ditch somewhere. Which I doubt. So. Yeah. -W_

(17:09) _You know what? I give up. Answer if you want. But it would have been nice if you'd let me know why you're not talking to me. -W_

Thirteen. Thirteen of his eighteen text messages are from Will.

He sighs and puts his phone down. He has absolutely no idea what to do. He's been having conflicting feelings ever since he woke up alone, and he has no idea how to deal with them, sort them out. He's always been good at compartmentalizing, but that ability seems to have deserted him now.

He hates that Will thinks it's something he did, and he hates that Will is possibly – probably – really unhappy with him. He hates that he can't call Jane and Benji, because if he does they'll demand to know why he's dropped off the face of the planet. Or worse, they'll know about the situation with Will, and ask why he's not answering him.

Not for the first time, he misses Julia. She's the kind of person who always knows what to do in any given situation, and how to deal with this kind of thing, and he wishes he could talk to her, perhaps ask her for help, but he knows that's not an option.

He also knows he's going to implode or spontaneously combust if he doesn't vent _right now_ , and so he goes for the safest option he's got at the moment. He picks up the phone again.

“Ethan.” Luther sounds surprised to hear from him. “Is there a reason you're calling me at 9 in the morning on a day I'm not required to be at HQ?”

“Yes, actually,” answers Ethan. “I need to talk to you. Can we meet?”

There is a pause, like Luther's contemplating what the hell Ethan's gotten into this time, and then he says, “Okay. You're buying me coffee and possibly lunch if your talk takes that long.”

* * *

“Okay, shoot,” says Luther, once they've settled down comfortably in a booth near the window of the coffee shop. “What did you do this time?”

Ethan fixes him with a glare that doesn't have much venom in it. “Why do you always assume I've done something?”

“That's because when you call _me_ for help, it means you've fucked something up and now I'm needed to fix the shit,” Luther points out. Ethan doesn't bother denying it; it's true, after all.

“Okay,” he sighs. “I admit it. I've fucked something up.”

Luther would crow in pride at having won the argument, but the feeling's dampened by the prospect of having to work to clear up Ethan's current predicament. “All right,” he sighs. “What is it?”

“Before I tell you, you have to swear not to laugh at me,” Ethan says, narrowing his eyes at Luther.

Luther looks suspicious, but says, “Okay. I swear. Now go on.”

Ethan takes a sip of his latte and says, “Okay, this is about Will.”

“Your analyst?” questions Luther, his cup paused midway to his mouth.

Ethan nods. “Yep. And he's not _my_ analyst,” he adds, frowning. Luther doesn't bother to correct himself, just waves at Ethan to go on. Ethan does so, still frowning. “So four or so days ago, Brassel asked us to do an assignment for him, and the team met up at my place to discuss it. Will and I both were somewhat ill that day. One thing led to another, and he ended up staying the night. Nothing happened,” he adds, noticing Luther's expression. “I swear.”

“Well, the way you put it, makes it seem something did happen,” Luther says.

“He didn't feel okay enough to be able to drive back home,” Ethan explains. “He tried, but he ended up on the side of the road and I picked him up.”

“And took him back to your own place,” finishes Luther.

Ethan nods. “I didn't think much of it, you know? Like, we're friends. I've stayed the night at his place before, and we've shared rooms on missions sometimes, so it's not really a big deal, you know? Like, not something I'd think much of. All we did was sit in a blanket fort and drink hot chocolate and watch Disney and that's about it–”

“Wait, what, hold up there.” Luther holds up his hand. “Did I hear that last part right?”

Ethan glares at him. “Yes,” he huffs. “Don't interrupt me. We were sick, okay? And the blanket fort and Disney was his idea.”

“And you went along with it.”

“Yes, haven't you been listening?”

Luther throws his hands up, clearly fighting to hide his amusement. “Okay. Go on.”

“Well, he kinda, you know. Fell asleep.” Ethan suddenly looks awkward.

“What were you expecting him to do?” Luther can't stop himself from asking.

“On my shoulder,” clarifies Ethan, suddenly very interested in the depths of his cup.

“Wait, that's it?” questions Luther. “That's what you woke me up on my off day to whine about?”

Ethan huffs again. “No. That's not all. The thing is, that was four days ago. I haven't talked to him since.” He hands his cell phone to Luther. “The entire team's been trying to contact me, him most of all, and I can't bring myself to reply.”

Luther's eyebrows rise steadily as he scrolls through the messages and missed calls. Then he says, “It's a wonder they didn't come crashing through your door.”

“I had Brassel tell them not to bother me,” Ethan says somewhat sheepishly. “I just wanted to be left alone until I could figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” Luther finishes his coffee and begins on a donut.

Ethan's face goes warm, and he's staring at his coffee cup like it holds the answers to all the questions in the universe. “The fact that I think I sort of kind of might really like him. A lot.”

Three seconds pass with no sound from Luther. He looks up to see the techie eyeing him incredulously. “Are you serious?” he asks.

“Well, yes,” Ethan says, a bit nonplussed. “Would I joke about something like this?”

“That's not what I'm saying,” Luther says, finishing his donut and taking Ethan's. Ethan doesn't make a move to stop him, which is a pretty good indicator of the funk he's in. “What I'm saying is, I can't believe you woke me up–”

“On your off day to whine about this, yes I know,” says Ethan irritably. “And I'm not whining,” he adds indignantly.

“Yes, you are,” Luther tells him. “Look – if you like him just go up to him and tell him. It's not like to be such a teenager about this. Unless you're scared he won't like you back, or some equally juvenile thing.”

“It's not that,” sighs Ethan. “It's just – I don't want him to feel pressured into it, just because I'm his team leader, or because he feels he owes me or something. Or maybe he's not even going to be interested. Maybe he doesn't care.” He sighs again, much more dejectedly this time.

“Are you shitting me, the man fell asleep on your shoulder,” Luther points out. “I'd say he does care. At least enough to let his guard down around you, which, from what you tell me, is a pretty big deal. Does he do that around Jane or Benji?”

“No,” replies Ethan, furrowing his brow. “No, he doesn't.”

“So there's that answered – he cares enough that he'll want to give it a go if you asked,” Luther says decisively. “So what's your problem?”

“The pressure thing, that's an issue,” Ethan stalls, wanting to find a good excuse before Luther makes him say what the real problem is. “What if he feels pressured to say yes?”

Luther rolls his eyes. “I don't know him that well, but even _I_ know he doesn't take any shit from anyone, Ethan. You should see him in the office sometimes, he can be terrifying when he wants. He's not going to feel pressured, trust me.”

“Okay, I give up.” Ethan pushes his practically untouched coffee away, losing all interest in it. “Luther, those two aren't even the real reasons why I'm worried about this, okay?”

“Then what is?” asks Luther, visibly annoyed. “Look, Ethan, be a man about this, okay? Not a teenage boy. Just tell me what it is, so I can try to help you. Moping and pining isn't going to change a thing.”

“I'm not moping and pining,” gripes Ethan. “Okay, look – it's just, there have been a lot of people in my life, okay. And they're not here now. Because something always happens, you know? They – they die, or they leave, or like Julia I can't be with them because it's not safe. I don't want any of that for him, okay? I don't want him to die, and I don't want him to get sick of me and leave.”

Luther looks thoughtfully at Ethan for a few moments. Then he says, cautious, “Look, Ethan – that's the kind of thing we don't get to control. He's going to die someday anyway, we all are. Whether it's on a mission, or old age – no one gets to control that. And as for him getting sick of you... if that was going to happen, trust me, it already would have.”

Ethan, who was listening carefully, now frowns. “What does that mean?”

Luther offers him a grin. “Well, you're a handful, you know. You're a stubborn bastard and extremely hard to put up with sometimes. If he's been patient with you about that for this long, I don't think it should be an issue later on.”

“He _hasn't_ ,” Ethan says. “He calls me an idiot and yells at me whenever I do something life-threatening.”

“After he saves your ass, that is.”

“I'm his team leader.”

“And his friend.”

“Yeah, he's obligated to save my ass.”

“Or he could just quit the team and go back to that cushy desk job, or ask to be transferred to another team.” When Ethan has nothing to say to that, Luther goes on, “See? He still puts up with you. That's patience. I'd know,” he adds as an afterthought.

“I hate you,” grumbles Ethan, but he's smiling. “Thank you,” he adds.

Luther rolls his eyes again. “Are we done here?” he asks. “Because I really wanna go home and sleep, you know.”

Ethan laughs. “Okay. Enjoy your off day.”

* * *

The first thing he does when he gets home is to pick up his phone again. He dials Will's number before he can change his mind. He gets the answering machine, and hangs up at once.

He stares at the phone. He feels like a teenager with his first crush.

He steels himself and picks up the phone again, and this time, he leaves a message. _Hey Will, it's me. I, uh, I'm sorry about the radio silence. My fault, by the way, nothing you did. Hey – I was wondering if you want to meet up? Dinner at 9, that Italian place you liked?_

Maybe if Will's full of his favorite food, he'll take the entire thing well. At least that's what Ethan's going to go with.

He knows he doesn't deserve a reply, not after having ignored Will, which makes him doubly grateful when Will answers by text. It's just one word – _okay_ – but it's enough, and Ethan finds himself in a good mood for the rest of the day, even if it's laced with nerves.

 

* * *

Will's a little late, but Ethan forgives him the moment he sees him. He's dressed informally – jeans and a dark green Henley – but Ethan's mouth goes a little dry at the sight. He adds _should dress casually_ to his mental list of things that Will should do more.

He tries not to think about the fact that he even _has_ a mental list of things regarding Will.

“Hey,” Will says quietly, taking the seat across from Ethan. “Is everything okay?”

For some reason, the question warms Ethan's heart. Will's concerned about whether everything's all right with Ethan, which makes him feel a little horrible about having ignored him. Actually – he's been feeling horrible since he ignored the first text alert on his phone.

“Everything's fine,” he tells Will with a smile. He resists the urge to tell Will he looks nice. Hella nice, in fact, to use a colloiqualism. “I just wanted to apologize. And explain.”

Will regards him for a few seconds, and then says, “It's all right. You don't have to explain.”

“I... don't?” Ethan asks, surprised. Does Will know, then? Has he somehow figured it out? He's an analyst, it's his job to _know_ things. And _analyze_ them. He's probably figured it out before Ethan himself did.

Will flaps his hand at him in a half-hearted gesture. “Yeah, it's okay. I get it.”

“You do?” Ethan's pretty sure he looks, and sounds, like an idiot right now.

“Yep,” answers Will, picking up the menu in front of him. “Don't worry about it. It's my fault, I shouldn't have just assumed you'd be okay with me hijacking your living-room and making you watch Disney and then falling asleep on you, so yeah that won't be happening again. And it's nothing to worry about, really, you don't need to pay for dinner or anything–”

“Will, what are you talking about?” interrupts Ethan, bewildered.

Will stops his rambling and looks at Ethan, somewhat exasperated. “That's what the issue is, isn't it? You weren't comfortable?”

Ethan almost slaps his own forehead. “What – _no_ ,” he says emphatically. “You've got it all wrong, how are you even an analyst?”

Will frowns at the unintended insult. “Well, it's because I'm good at analyzing things, apparently,” he says.

“Yes, you are, but when it comes to yourself you're a bit of an idiot,” Ethan tells him, smiling a little. “Seriously, it _didn't_ make me uncomfortable. If it had I would have told you. That's not what the matter is at all.”

Will looks frankly relieved, before he registers Ethan's last sentence. “What is, then? Is it the same reason you've been ignoring everyone?”

Ethan nods at him. Will's looking at him expectantly, and suddenly Ethan's stomach drops through to his feet. He can't do it. He _can't_. Not with the way Will's looking at him, relaxed and totally comfortable in his company. He really likes the way they are now, and he can't risk ruining that. He can't, and he doesn't want to, either. He wants to keep Will around for as long as he can, and if that means he'll have to squash his own wishes and stick to friendship, then so be it. He can live with that.

“I just had a really bad headache,” he finally says, perfectly aware of how lame his excuse is. He knows Will's not going to buy it either. “Migraine, you know. It didn't go away, and I barely moved from my bed all this time.”

Will's looking at him, expression neutral, but Ethan knows he doesn't believe him. For a second he's anxious that Will might call him out on it and make him explain, but Will, perfect angel that he is, just slowly nods and then says, “Okay. Are you better now?”

“Yes, thanks,” Ethan tells him, even as he feels his emotions die a slow painful death. “And I know it's not really my fault, but I felt bad for not being able to answer your texts and calls, and for making you think it was something you did, so I thought I'd make it up to you.”

“We'll split the bill, since obviously it's no one's fault,” Will says, and lifts the corner of his mouth in a smile. Ethan mentally heaves a sigh of relief at the fact that Will's accepted his shitty excuse, and smiles back.

* * *

Will keeps glancing at him, though, throughout the evening. Surreptitious looks here and there, and Ethan is all-too-aware of Will's eyes on him. So, just to distract himself, he decides to look at Will.

That doesn't work out too well, either, since it just reminds him of the fact that he's, in all honesty, being a coward. Finally he settles for making casual conversation and hoping that Will doesn't notice the way he catalogues all of Will's little movements and actions like this is the last time they're going to spend time together.

He walks Will to his car when it's over, and pretends not to notice the fact that Will still looks like he suspects somethings. He knows that Will knows he's caught all the looks, but he can't find it within himself to bring it up. It's been a nice evening and he doesn't want to ruin it.

“So,” Will says, unlocking his car. “Was this a date, then?”

Ethan almost chokes on thin air, but then he notices the playful smile on Will's face. “Well, that depends – do you want it to be?” he responds, equally playful.

Will pretends to think. “Let's just say I wouldn't mind so much if it was,” he says finally, and there's a note of seriousness in his voice.

Ethan's mouth goes dry again. Well, that definitely puts rest to the interest and pressure issues. Will's interested, and since he's brought it up, clearly he doesn't feel pressured into it. And logically, Ethan knows this would be the best time to make a move, to say or do something that'll let Will know he's up for it, but he can't. He can't even breathe right now, so speaking is out of the question.

Finally he just nods stiffly. “Okay,” he says, and immediately hates himself because Will's entire posture changes at his reply – becomes tense, and somewhat dejected. “Good night, Will,” he forces himself to say, before he fucks this up further.

Will is silent, biting his lip, and Ethan reflects on how it's a nervous tell of his. The funny thing is, he's only noticed it when Will's around him or the team – because on missions, lies are required and he's seen Will lie so smoothly he almost believed it himself.

“Good night, Ethan,” Will finally says, and all nonchalance is gone. Instead, he sounds stiff, formal even as he says, “Thank you for today. It was nice.”

Ethan nods, but Will's no longer looking at him. He watches as Will backs out of the parking and drives away, and he hates himself just a little bit more when he sees how tightly Will's holding the steering wheel, knuckles white and the tendons in his hand standing out clearly.

He hates himself, period.

He spends the entire night replaying the evening in his head, hating himself some more, and thinking of how Will looked when Ethan basically shot him down. _It's for his own good_ , he tries to convince himself. _He'll only get hurt if he's with me._

He almost believes it. Almost.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated :)


	7. I've Traveled All This Way for Something (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan overhears some people talk about Will in a less-than-pleasant manner (read: extremely inappropriate insinuations) and gets a little bit ticked off (read: really fucking angry), coming valiantly to Will's defense. The entire mixed-signals situation confuses and frustrates Will, and he gives Ethan an ultimatum.
> 
>  
> 
> _"I'm done trying to figure you out. If you're up for explaining, great. If not, then let's just go back to being colleagues, okay? Just colleagues, because I don't think I can take any more emotional hits.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give up on this titles schtick. Song lyrics are my savior. Makes sense, too, considering they're stuck in my head all the time anyway.
> 
> This chapter is for [Iz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_izhyper/), in honor of her eighteenth birthday and the ensuing _responsibility_ and _adultness_ *snickers* Go wish her, everyone, and do check out her fics. She's _**amaaa aaaaaaaaazing**_.

_I coulda gave up then but_  
 _Then again I couldn't have 'cause_  
 _I've traveled all this way for somethin'_

**Imagine Dragons - On Top of the World**

* * *

 

“You look _fine_ ,” Jane says impatiently when Ethan tugs self-consciously at his tie for the sixth time.

“You okay there, Ethan?” asks Benji. “You look nervous.”

“I'm not nervous, why would I be?” mutters Ethan as he gives his tie a final tug and then knots his hands in his lap. “Just feeling restless.”

Neither Jane nor Benji believe it.

They're in the front row, right next to the Director and the Secretary and all the dignitaries. Will's going to be up to speak in a few minutes. Normally Ethan hates seminars, hates them so much he would rather stab himself in the toe a million times than sit through the crushing boredom, but this is _Will_. He's rather shit at saying no to Will, he's discovered.

It's some kind of analyst thing, where every new analyst is crammed into a room and the Director, Secretary and Chief Analyst give them some kind of motivational, “welcome to the IMF” speech. Ethan's been to one before, when he first joined. It was deathly boring then, and it's deathly boring now. So far, that is. Ethan's pretty sure he's not going to be so bored when Will steps up.

It's a huge deal to Will, for some reason. He was excited when they asked him to speak, even more so when Jane and Benji promised they would be there. Ethan didn't even need convincing – even though things between them are still strange, Ethan wants to be there for him during his moment.

“Will's coming up in a minute,” Jane, on Ethan's right, whispers. Ethan's heartbeat speeds up, much to his annoyance. He tugs at his tie again and ignores Jane's eye-roll.

“Your pupils dilate when you look at him,” Benji mutters, and Ethan sits ramrod straight.

“What?”

“Your pupils,” Benji says, quite seriously. “They dilate when you look at Will. It's even more noticeable because of your eye color.”

“What's your point?” asks Ethan, somewhat irritable that Benji seems to have figured it out.

“You like him,” Benji states casually. “You really like him a lot, Ethan. It's sort of obvious.”

On his other side, Jane snorts. “Obvious? He might as well put up neon signs.”

Ethan feels his face go warm and knows he's blushing, right up to the roots of his hair. “Really?”

“Really,” confirms Benji. “And do you know something? His pupils dilate too, when he looks at you.”

Even though Ethan already knows Will likes him, Benji's statement gives rise to a flare of warmth in his chest. “Really?” he repeats, knowing he sounds like an idiot in love. Which he is.

“Really,” Benji and Jane both answer. They smile at him, and Ethan tentatively smiles back. This is what he loves about his team – that they're supportive, and they're not judging him for anything.

Except maybe his fashion choices, as evidenced by Jane's earlier look of mortification when she saw what Ethan had decided to wear. In Ethan's defense, the blue suit is his favorite, and he doesn't care if the bright yellow tie and tan shoes don't go with it.

His train of thought goes to hell when Will comes up on the stage, and Ethan actually _feels_ his mouth go dry. Will looks stunning, dressed in a simple gray suit, with his hair carefully spiked. He looks incredibly self-confident and assured, and Ethan has to resist the urge to go up onstage and kiss the shit out of him.

Though maybe an apology is in order, first. Ethan's working on it.

He's still having second thoughts about asking Will out, can't bring himself to do it. Something inside him twinges every time he meets Will at work or talks to him, every time he looks into those bright blue eyes and remembers what they'd looked like two weeks ago, when he'd shot Will down. He hates himself a bit more with each passing day, but he still can't make himself go talk to Will.

Will begins speaking, and Ethan tunes everything out except for the sound of his voice, and the way he moves when he talks.

* * *

They go to see Will after his bit is done, and Jane gives him a tight hug. “You were wonderful,” she tells him, smiling. “People actually enjoyed your speech, I saw so many of them paying attention. It was amazing.”

Will goes a little pink at the praise, but thanks her anyway. Benji offers compliments as well, and then adds, “Though I think Ethan's the one who enjoyed it the most, Will. He was so _focused_ on what you were saying.”

 _The bastard_ , Ethan thinks as he sees Will go a darker pink and turn to look at him. “I'm glad you liked it,” Will is saying, and Ethan almost hits himself. This is his fault, he reminds himself. His own fault that Will is being so stilted and formal, so different to the easy, comfortable friendship they'd built up.

“I honestly did,” he finally says, and offers Will a tentative smile. “First time I actually paid attention to one of these things.”

He tries not to think about the blinding smile Will gives him.

* * *

“You should go talk to him,” Jane says during dinner. The three of them are seated at a table in a corner, with two other people. They've saved a place for Will, who's currently talking to Brassel somewhere.

Ethan sighs. “I know,” is all he says.

“She's right,” Benji pipes up. “I mean, I don't know what happened between you two, why he's being so strange with you, but you need to talk and sort it out. It's making both of you miserable.”

Ethan blinks. “He's miserable?”

Jane nods. “I went to his apartment last weekend to drop off some papers. He was still in bed. It was noon, Ethan. We're talking about a man whose idea of sleeping in on Sunday is to get up at 7 instead of 6. And he's been eating tons of ice cream.”

“Breakup food,” explains Benji, like Ethan's an idiot who doesn't know these things. “Which is weird, since you two were never _technically_ together, but you know. He's miserable. Point made.”

“He just looks like a kicked puppy all the time,” Jane says, the corners of her mouth pulling down. Ethan knows she's come to regard Will as a little brother, someone she can fuss over and take care of and look after. She respects him and admires his skills, but she's not above mother-henning the hell out of him should he require it.

“Except when he's talking to you,” Benji adds. “Then he looks marginally better, but not in a good way. Like – like, 'I know I'm gonna be miserable soon so I might as well be happy while I can' kind of way.”

Ethan sighs again and pushes his plate away, appetite vanishing. “This is my fault,” he declares, and raises an eyebrow when Jane and Benji don't bother to contradict him. They totally should, he thinks. Just on principle. “It's my fault,” he repeats, and Jane raises an unimpressed eyebrow in a _go on_ manner. “I ignored him for four days after he stayed over, and then I took him out to dinner and he said he wouldn't mind if it was a date and all I said was 'okay' and I said it in the most dickish way possible.”

There's a momentary silence, and then, “Wow, mixed signals much?” This from Benji.

“I am a horrible person,” laments Ethan, even as Jane pats his arm consolingly. “I'm truly _terrible_. I deserve to be shot in the knees with a crossbow.”

“I wouldn't take it that far,” Jane says. “Just go talk to him, Ethan. Explain. I'm sure he'll understand.”

Ethan nods at her. “Yeah. I should do that. I should go talk to him.”

Benji smirks. “Smart man.” Ethan, in a show of maturity, sticks his tongue out.

They eat in silence for some time. Well, to be accurate, Jane and Benji eat while Ethan ponders the best way to get back in Will's good graces. It's then that he begins to subconsciously pay attention to the other two people sharing the table with them, a guy and a girl not more than 21. It takes him another moment to realize they're talking about Will.

“You know he's also a field agent, right?” the girl is saying. “Like, he was just the Chief Analyst before but after Ghost Protocol happened he joined Ethan Hunt's team.”

“I hear Hunt's got the hots for him,” the boy adds, and Ethan starts, wondering if the boy overheard them talking. Apparently it's just a rumor though, and Ethan relaxes. Rumors can die off, but not if they've been accidentally confirmed by the very subject of them.

“He probably does,” the girl says indifferently. “Brandt's quite a goodlooking man.”

Ethan feels a sudden stab of irrational jealousy.

“Do you think they're together?” the boy asks.

“Doesn't matter what I think,” is the girl's answer. “As long as it doesn't have any influence on how they do their jobs, I don't think anyone should care.”

Ethan wants to buy the girl a drink, or maybe send her a fruit basket, but he can't do either so he settles for aggressively nodding in her direction and ignoring Jane and Benji's bewildered expressions.

He dismisses the conversation from his mind soon after, writing it off as just some more office gossip. In fact, he doesn't think about it until he's in the parking lot an hour later, after having said goodbye to Will, Jane and Benji.

There is a group of younger agents walking behind him, talking amongst themselves. They're quite loud, and Ethan listens absently as he walks towards his car. “It's got to be it,” one of them is saying. “Probably the only reason Hunt keeps Brandt around. I don't think he's much good for anything else, really. And did you even listen to his speech tonight? I've never been so bored in my life.”

“Totally, man,” agrees another. “I mean, he's really smart, but that's about it. I don't think he's got much skills as a field agent.”

“Nah bro, he was on the Dubai mission with Hunt,” contradicts a third. “I've heard Hunt keeps saying that it wouldn't have been possible to get IMF back up without Brandt.”

“Well, of course Hunt would say that, right?” argues a fourth. “If he and Brandt really are, you know. Going at it.”

Ethan can't repress the angry noise in the back of his throat, fists clenched by his sides. It's then that the guys realize he's even there. “Dude,” one of them says, awe evident in his voice. “You're Ethan Hunt.”

“I'm aware,” Ethan says, stopping by his car. He brought the Porsche out tonight, opting to leave the Stingray home. It helped get to the venue (and Will) faster.

They stop too. “Did you hear us?” the third one asks, not even looking a little ashamed.

Ethan nods coldly. “Loud and clear.”

“So is it true?” presses the first one. “Are you and Brandt sleeping together?”

Ethan cannot believe the _gall_. “Does it matter?” he asks evenly.

“Well,” says the second one. “We just want to know if you're only keeping him around because he's good in bed. I mean, that's got to be it, right?” he adds at Ethan's unimpressed look. “It's the sex, isn't it?”

“No,” Ethan says bluntly, his tone suggesting bloody murder. “Will Brandt is an excellent agent, and I'm glad he's on my team. He could kick all four of your asses simultaneously. With one hand tied behind his back and blindfolded. And no, I'm not sleeping with him,” he adds, his tone taking on a terrifying quality.

The boys actually back off. “Whoa man, calm down,” says the third one. “We didn't mean anything by it. It's just that, people talk, y'know? There's rumors. And you guys seem to spend an awful lot of time together even when you're not on missions.”

“We're friends,” Ethan says, gritting his teeth. “Friends are allowed to spend time together. Now, are we done here, or do you need to ask any more stupid questions?”

The boys just kind of scramble, and Ethan feels a kind of vindictive satisfaction when he sees that they actually look scared of him. He still feels angry enough to skewer someone, though; his hands are shaking and he's grinding his teeth together. He doesn't think he can drive until he calms down – and there is only one thing he knows will do that for him.

He goes back inside, to Will.

* * *

He finds him chatting with Jane and Benji in the lobby, while they wait for Benji's cab to arrive (his car just kind of died on him without so much as a puff of smoke in warning). _Still_ gritting his teeth, he strides up to them, grabs Will's shoulders and asks, straining to keep his voice at a reasonable volume, “Do you have any idea what these people are saying about you?”

Will blinks. “Aren't you supposed to be going home?” he asks in return, voice steady even as Ethan's fingers steadily dig into his shoulders.

“I ran into some boys in the parking lot,” Ethan tells him, loosening his grip a little. “They were saying things, Will, insinuating stuff. And some people at dinner were saying the same.”

“And what exactly were they saying?” inquires Will. Jane and Benji are standing aside, watching the conversation proceed with equal amounts of curiosity and concern.

Ethan sighs, his hands automatically moving closer to Will's neck. “They were talking shit. Some stuff about – about how you're only on the team because you're sleeping with me.”

Will's eyes go wide, but other than that there's no indication that he's understood. “Okay,” is all he says. “Let them talk. That's what people do, Ethan – they talk.”

“It doesn't bother you?” insists Ethan, his hands resting on either side of Will's neck. “It doesn't bother you at all that this is what they think of you?”

Will's completely still, taking in shallow breaths as he registers the feeling of Ethan's hands on his neck, the touch light and soothing. He doesn't know what to make of it, and it's clear on his face. “Ethan, I don't _care_ what they think of me,” he says. “I don't need to, because the people who really count know that that's not the truth.”

“It's still an awful thing to say,” Benji cuts in. “I'd hate for someone to say that about my friend.”

Will offers him a somewhat strained smile. “Thanks, Benji, but I really don't care what they think. As long as you, Jane and Ethan know that it's not true, then I don't mind.”

Ethan releases Will, making a frustrated sound. “Fuck,” he swear angrily. “Will – fuck, I – how can you – doesn't it make you _feel_ – oh my God.” He's livid to the point of speechlessness, something that rarely happens to him. Will just seems so _apathetic_ and _indifferent_ to the whole thing, and Ethan can't understand why. “I might actually kill them,” he mutters when he sees those same boys from earlier entering the lobby. “Screw it; I actually will.”

Jane has to put a hand firmly on his arm to prevent him from stomping over to them. Benji looks worried, and Will is just watching Ethan closely, like he's trying to understand something. Just from his face, Ethan can tell he's thinking a mile a minute.

“Ethan, _no_ ,” says Jane. “Hurting them won't change a thing. If anything, it'll only confirm what they're saying. You'll only make things worse for yourself and Will. _Don't_.”

“Jane, you didn't hear what they were saying,” Ethan says, voice stretched tight. “You didn't hear the way they talked about him – I can't, Jane, I can't tolerate anyone speaking about him that way. I _won't_ tolerate it.”

“You _have_ to,” she says. “Look, I don't like it anymore than you do, okay? And neither does Benji. And believe me when I say that if we hear anyone talking about him in front of us we'll kick their asses. But here, and now? Ethan, there's so many people around. To them, you'll look like the perp, like you attacked for no reason.” When Ethan still doesn't look convinced, she adds, “It's Will's night, Ethan. Let's not ruin it for him.”

Ethan finally relaxes, because Will is his fucking magic word and there's nothing he won't do for him. Benji looks relieved, and says, “Rest assured, though, they'll find some very nasty things waiting for them when they switch on their computers at work.”

Ethan smiles tersely at him. “Thanks, Benji.”

Will's still watching him wordlessly, and now his gaze has begun to unnerve Ethan. Partly to get rid of it, and partly so he can make sure Will's all right, he says, “Let me walk you to your car.”

“Benji's cab,” Will begins, but it's Jane who cuts him off.

“I'll wait with him, it's all right,” she smiles. Ethan loves her so much right now. “You go on, Will.”

He frowns a little, but says, “Okay, Ethan.”

Ethan waits till they're outside before asking, “Will, did you know all of this?”

Will exhales, and nods. “I had some idea, yes. But like I said, I don't care and besides, no one ever said anything directly to me.”

“It's not fair,” fumes Ethan. “I don't want them to think that about you.”

“Why?” asks Will abruptly.

“Well, because they're wrong,” Ethan says, a little nonplussed that Will's even asking. “And because you're important to me, Will. I care about you.”

At that, Will makes an impatient, frustated noise in the back of his throat. “You know what I don't understand, Ethan? You do all these things for me, and sometimes I think you actually _care_ about how I feel, about _me,_ but then sometimes you act like I'm just a useful tool, just an asset to the team. Just tell me what you want, Ethan, because I'm sick and tired of trying to figure you out. I've worked myself insane trying to understand where I might have gone wrong and turned you away, but I don't get it, and I'm honestly just... tired.”

Ethan's speechless, like he's wont to be around Will. He hates his brain for going blank this very moment, but then in all fairness, what Will said is kind of hard to process and may take time.

“You don't need to reply,” Will tells him. “It's just me being pathetic, okay? I fooled myself into thinking there was actually something, and I didn't even bother to stop and ask myself if it even made sense. Like, why would you even bother with someone like me, right?”

“What do you mean, someone like you?” Ethan finally says, a little hoarsely.

Will waves a hand around. “Oh, you know,” he says bitterly, “just that I'm not exactly someone you'd be proud of dating. Not fucked up old me.”

“I don't think you're fucked up.” _Good job, Ethan,_ he congratulates himself. _You're a real charmer. Sweep a man right off his feet._

Will laughs mirthlessly. “Whatever, Ethan. Bottom line is, I'm done trying to figure you out. If you're up for explaining, great. If not, then let's just go back to being colleagues, okay? Just colleagues, because I don't think I can take any more emotional hits.” Without waiting for a reply, he stalks off to his car, leaving Ethan alone and feeling like shit.

* * *

He lies awake for a long time that night, mulling over Will's words. He knows he's ruined Will's night, and he hates himself for it. He hates that his own selfish drama spoiled Will's joy, and he hates that he made Will upset.

He thinks about the ultimatum Will's given him. _If you're up for explaining, great. If not, then let's just go back to being colleagues, okay?_ His insides seem to coil when he even considers the possibility of never being friendly with Will again, not being able to fix what he's broken between them. He doesn't think he can stand seeing Will everyday, going on missions with him, but not being able to joke with him or talk to him or comfort him on his bad days.

He remembers the way Will curled up next to him, that night when they were both sick, and slept contentedly. He knows it's because Will has placed a great amount of trust in him, trust that he never wants to lose. He thinks of how perfectly Will fit into his side, and how amazing it felt. He remembers the feel of Will's hand in his. He thinks of Will's voice, and how amazing he sounds when he laughs. He recalls Will's smile and the way his eyes crinkle and how _blue_ they can be, especially when he's happy–

He makes a decision – he's going to go talk to Will tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get better next chapter, _I swear_. Also, I've written out the entire plan for this fic and I estimate it should be around 20 chapters or so? Hope that's not too long.
> 
> Please do leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Feedback is important to me and I'd love to see what you guys think. Pretty please?
> 
>  ~~I'm not above begging and bribing.~~  
> 
> Do check out my [tumblr](http://dylan-osunshine.tumblr.com/) as well :3
> 
> Love,  
> Remy


	8. Could've Lost and Never Had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is taken by a bunch of mad scientists (no joke) and used as a human guinea pig for testing out various combinations of deadly diseases. He is found just in time and hospitalized, but it's a very rocky ride - no one knows whether he will live or die, and while the doctors are doing everything they can to counteract the viruses inside him, even they cannot predict how this will turn out.
> 
> Meanwhile, the team waits and hopes, and Ethan spends his time suspended in a strange kind of purgatory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK YEAH EXAMS ARE OVER
> 
> Okay, this is a seriously long chapter - 8-9k words, but I really didn't want to split it. I think Iz might actually murder me if I did, considering I've been promising her the 'fessing-up chapter for like, sixty years now.
> 
> So yeah, this is it, this is when 'fessing-up and feelings and shit happen. Not necessarily in that order. I hope the length doesn't put anyone off - though you can, like, read it in installments or something, I guess.
> 
>  **WARNING** : for the love of all that is holy (and healthy), please don't take the medical stuff seriously. I made it up, I swear. I tried to make it plausible as much as I could, but in the end it's just fiction.
> 
>  **EDIT (25th June 2014):** I've changed it a little bit (not much, just changed "antibiotics" to "antivirotics" thanks to Cirrat's wonderful and informative comment. Thanks a lot :D
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER (again) (1st July 2014):** So. I was going back through some of the older Hunt/Brandt fics (because I was bored and don't have my own computer with me) and I found out that there's already a fic that deals with the Brandt + superviruses = Ethan fessing up. Funny thing is, I'd read it before too.
> 
> So at this point I'd just like to assure you all that _no_ I didn't plagiarize. I'd completely forgotten that fic while writing this chapter (not that it wasn't a good fic. It's adorable. I just wasn't thinking of it while doing my own writing). So whatever I wrote, I came up with on my own. Turns out it wasn't such an original idea (pfft _no shit_ ), but there you have it. Can't have my cake and eat it too, or something to that effect.
> 
> My point is - I did not plagiarize, and have no intention of ever doing so. Plagiarism is something that bothers me down to a deep, fundamental level, because it's _theft_ \- there's no other word for it. It's something I can't condone, and something I'd never do.
> 
> I'm gonna keep this chapter where it is (because I'm _really damn happy_ with it, and that rarely happens when it comes to my own writing. I'm proud of this, okay? It may not be completely accurate, or my most original idea to date, but nevertheless I worked hard on it. I apologize to anyone who might have construed this as plagiarism, and to the author herself if it offended her in any way (she's fairly active here but I have no indication if she's ever read this fic, so I'm just gonna leave this here in case she does).
> 
> To anyone who's curious (or, like me, just enjoys sick!Will because I am in fact a horrible person) - the fic is [From Darkness Comes Light](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1113487) by TalithaX.
> 
> That will be all. Have a nice day, guys :)

_Why haven't I heard that you have fallen sick_  
 _I am afraid I'll never see you again_  
 _Waiting the morning when I see you well_  
 _I'll breathe you in, hold you here_

_Now I’ve said what I wanted_  
 _Could've lost and never had_  
 _Now I'm free from my bondage_  
 _Without you, I would be nothing_

**Scott Weiland - Breath**

* * *

Pain. There is so much _pain_.

Will can't make sense of time, not anymore. The minutes and hours have all blurred together, and he's given up trying to keep count. He can't remember the taste of water, or what it feels like to not be hungry all the time. He can't even remember what it feels like to not be in agony.

He doesn't know what they've given him, just that it's a combination of many different viruses. He's become some kind of human guinea pig for their sick experiments, and there isn't shit he can do about it. He doesn't even know how long he's been here.

He remembers a bit of the mission, though. He remembers Brassel briefing them himself, telling them about the rogue scientists who were engineering a supervirus. He remembers being told to stop them at all costs. He remembers Ethan screaming “ _Will,_ _NO!"_  as he practically sacrificed himself, because there is nothing he won't do for his team. Despite the pain and the hunger and the thirst, if he ever again gets the choice to give himself up or let his teammates die, he's always going to choose the former. _Always_ , and there's not a damned thing Ethan or anyone can do to stop him.

He thinks it's been a week or so since he's been captured. He's not sure, because he lost count after the third day, when the fever and the delirium kicked in. His entire body feels like it's on fire, and freezing at the same time. Most of the time he's found himself wishing that he'd just die already.

It's a struggle just to stay awake now. Sometimes he thinks he sees Ethan hovering over him, but he's not sure if they're dreams or hallucinations. He hears his team sometimes, and when he's conscious enough he focuses on them. He finds it helps him get through the pain.

He might never see them again. The realization brings with it a small sob, because there is so much he never got to tell them. He never got to say thank you, for taking him in and accepting him and becoming the family he never had. He never got to tell them just how much they meant.

And Ethan. Ethan's never going to know just how deep Will's feelings went. He's never going to know that Will can do anything for him, _will_ do anything for him without a second thought. He's never going to know just how much Will cares.

Will knows that Ethan might not feel the same way, but then again, he also might. He hates that he's never going to know.

* * *

_Will_.

It's been ten days. They don't know where he is, or even if he's still alive. There's been no word from his captors.

“We'll find him, we will,” Jane repeats over and over again to Benji and Ethan, like she can bring herself to believe it if she says it enough. Benji just nods and goes back to his computer, typing at the speed of light, trying to find something, _anything_.

And Ethan? Ethan just watches them and thinks, and hates himself because with every passing hour, the chances of getting Will back get slimmer and slimmer. He might never see Will again, never hear him talk or laugh. He'll never be able to tell Will how he really feels, and it eats him up inside that Will might die thinking Ethan doesn't care about him.

 _How about no_ , he tells himself. _How about we focus on finding him. He's not dead. He can't be._

But all Ethan can think of is how much Will must be suffering, wherever he is. He's seen Will hurt on missions before, but never this bad. He remembers the vulnerable, injured Will from the Bender mission, and almost throws up. This is so, _so_ much worse than that.

It's horribly ironic, that he never realized just _how_ much he really cares until Will got taken from him. He knew he had feelings, yeah, but he never knew just how deep they ran. He never did get to talk to Will, after the seminar. It made matters worse, with Will becoming cold and distant, treating him like he would any other colleague. It hurt, of course it did, but Ethan just dealt with it. Every time he saw Will's expressionless face (where previously he had been able to read everything), he reminded himself of Julia, of what she'd been through just because he loved her. And he told himself that he wouldn't be able to bear it if something happened to Will.

And now? Now something _has_ happened to Will, and it's got nothing to do with Ethan. Despite that he feels guilty, feels like he should at least have let Will know, should have given it a chance. Now? There's nothing he won't do to get Will back.

He's broken from his thoughts when Benji yells something incomprehensible. “I think I found something!” the techie says excitedly, and immediately Jane and Ethan are at his side, looking over his shoulder into the computer. He's got a map up, and there's a pulsating red dot in the far right corner.

“I was tracking Will's cell phone signal, just in case,” he explains, speaking so fast Ethan has to strain to understand, “because I thought, there just _might_ be a teensy chance, you know? And it worked, because I'm getting a signal, I'm getting a location, _look_!”

“It might be a trap,” Jane points out. “Why else would the signal show up _now_ , after ten days?”

“I don't care if it's a trap,” Ethan says. “It's _something_. I'm gonna go check it out.” He feels determined, focused – a new wave of hope washes over him at Benji's discovery. Maybe, just maybe, he'll get Will back.

“Ethan, we can't just do that,” Jane argues, and she has a point, even if Ethan's loathe to admit it. “We might _all_ end up dead.”

“Well, what else can we do?” he demands. “Jane, they've got _Will_. I can't – I can't sit back and do _nothing_ , Jane. I can't.” His voice cracks. “It's _Will_ ,” he repeats, like it's going to change something.

“I know,” Jane says, sympathy and understanding all over her face. “I know, Ethan, I know what it's like too. Remember? I _know_. But we can just burst in there, guns blazing. If it's a trap, not only will we be compromised, we'll be no closer to saving Will.”

Ethan sighs, and collapses on a nearby chair. He runs a hand over his face. “I just don't know what I'll do, if he–” He finds himself unable to complete the thought.

“We'll find him,” Benji promises. “Don't you worry, Ethan. We'll find him. We'll get through it, _together_.”

Ethan tries really hard to believe him.

* * *

Benji follows up on his lead, and then calls Luther for confirmation. The situation is explained in as few words as possible, and Luther promises to call as soon as he finds something. He then requests to speak to Ethan.

“Are you okay?” he asks the minute Ethan says hello.

“I'm okay,” Ethan answers quietly. “Just. I want him back, Luther. I _need_ him back.”

“And you'll find him,” Luther says. “If anyone can do it, it's you. Think of all the odds you've gone against, Ethan. You always win. You can do this.”

“Thanks, Luther,” Ethan says. He's grateful, he really is, but Luther's words make him feel only marginally better. “I just wish it's not too late.”

“It won't be,” says Luther firmly, before hanging up.

* * *

It's not until day thirteen that Benji and Luther find a real lead, and Ethan wastes no time in prepping his team and getting them out there. The signal from Will's cell phone is dead, but Benji found another one, a weaker signal from a bug Will had been carrying. He traced it to a small, derelict building across town, and so here they are.

They go in silently, deadly in their stealth. Benji's got his smartphone out and is tracking the signal, with Ethan ahead of him and Jane covering his back. They run into a few thugs, who are dispatched easily and silently.

“Remember, this is a stealth mission,” Jane whispers. “That means no dramatic fights, Ethan. We go in, we take out the ringleader, we find Will and we leave.”

“I know,” Ethan replies irritably, but Jane is having none of it.

“Focus. Don't let your anger control you.”

It takes them twenty minutes to comb the place through and get rid of the thugs. The signal is very close – just a few feet away. Ethan's heart is in his throat. All that's keeping him from Will now is a concrete wall.

“ _Stealth,_ ” Jane hisses as a reminder, before she silently picks the lock open.

Thanks to Benji playing a loop over the CCTV, no one's seen them coming. In direct contrast to the rest of the building, the room they're in is large and brightly lit, filled with modern medical technology and machines.

There's a bed in the middle of the room, and Ethan's throat constricts as he sees the figure tied down to it. There are tubes running from Will's arm and chest, leading to bags of clear fluid. His clothing is in tatters, and Ethan can see the bruises sticking out on his pale skin even from where he's standing. There are three men surrounding Will, all of them in lab coats.

Ethan signals to Jane and Benji, and they nod as they understand what he wants them to do. Silently they sneak up on the men, who are too absorbed in their work to notice a thing. It's a cakewalk from there; all three of them are unconscious within seconds.

“Oh my God.”

Ethan's head snaps up and he sees Benji bent over Will, horror written plainly all over his face. “What is it?” he asks, moving closer. “Benji, _what is it?”_

Benji points to the bags of fluid draining into Will. “They've – oh my God, Ethan. Those are _viruses_. So many of them.”

Ethan's mouth goes dry and his heart sinks to his knees when he realizes what Benji means, what this could entail. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters. The motherfuckers have emptied their viruses into Will. _Into his Will._

(Oh, he's using possessive terms now? That's a fairly new development.)

“He's conscious, but barely,” Benji says, reading Will's vital signs off a monitor even as he gently unties Will and unhooks the tubes from him. “I don't think he knows we're here.”

That doesn't discourage Ethan – he leans over Will and puts a hand on his face. Will's eyes are barely open, and Ethan can see only a sliver of blue between his eyelids. “Will, it's me,” he says softly. “Hang in there, Will. We're gonna get you out of here.”

Will blinks rapidly, and mutters something inaudible. Ethan leans closer to hear him, but all he gets are small, pained whimpers. The sound grabs his heart in a vice, squeezes until Ethan can feel his own tears running down his face. “It's all right, Will,” he murmurs. “I've got you now – you're gonna be fine.”

“I've called for an extraction team, they should be here soon along with medics – oh my _God_ , what did they do to him?” Jane's voice goes from professionally casual to shocked and angry in a millisecond.

“They've used him as a test subject,” Benji explains. “We need to get him out of here ASAP. He's not looking too good at the moment.”

 _Understatement_ , thinks Ethan. Will's skin is hot and dry to the touch, and so, so pale. He looks more like a corpse than anything else.

Benji removes the last of the tubes, and Ethan gathers Will into his arms. Will's head falls onto his shoulder, and he's forcibly reminded of that time they'd watched _The Lion King_ together, and Will fell asleep on his shoulder. He clenches his teeth and tightens his grip on Will, and says, “Let's get out of here.”

* * *

Will feels like he's floating and drowning at the same time.

He still feels pain, but it's not as bad as it was before. It's a different kind of pain – more of a dull ache than the sharp spikes he's become accustomed to. But at the same time, he feels strangely detached, like all this is happening to someone else.

He tries to move his hands, or make some sound, but he can't. He just doesn't have the energy. Dimly he can hear people speaking, and there's a feather-light touch on his face, but he can't bring himself to respond to it. He can't bring himself to do much of anything, other than give in to the darkness pressing in around him.

* * *

The doctor looks grim, and just his expression makes Ethan's guts knot into a mess inside him. “What is it?” he asks immediately, standing up from his seat in the waiting room. “How is he?”

“I don't know,” Dr. Connor, a middle-aged man with tired gray eyes and sandy brown hair, says. “I honestly don't know. I'm sorry, Ethan. It's hard to pinpoint what exactly they've done. Is he talking yet?” he asks, referring to the ringleader of the crazy scientists.

Ethan shakes his head. “We've tried everything, but he refuses to say what they've put in him.”

“So far we've been able to isolate seventeen different viruses,” Connor tells them. “And there are so many more that we haven't been able to identify yet. It's going to take time to figure out how to treat him, because he's displaying a variety of symptoms from _all_ of them.”

“Is he going to be okay?” asks Jane.

“I don't know,” Connor says again, looking miserable. “We're trying everything, but we've never seen anything like this before. Even by IMF standards, this is a completely unforeseen situation. All we can do is give him antibiotics and hope they work.”

“That's it?” says Ethan, voice deceptively calm. “That's all you can do?”

“You've got to understand, Ethan,” begins Connor, “there's not much we can do that won't endanger him further. This is, all of it, just touch-and-go. We have absolutely no idea how this is going to end, if he's even going to survive at all.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” asks Ethan loudly. “Look at me – he can't die, do you hear me? He _can't_.”

“Ethan,” begins Benji, but Ethan cuts across him. He looks Connor directly in the eyes, his gaze hard and unflinching, and says, voice cold, “If anything happens to him, I swear on everything I hold dear that I will hunt you down. All of you.”

“Ethan, sit down,” orders Jane, and pushes him into his seat. “Threatening him won't change a thing.” She turns to Connor. “Do everything you can,” she commands him. “Do _anything_ you think will save him. And remember – if Ethan does decide to come after you, he'll have me and Benji to back him up.”

Connor nods, even though he looks scared as shit. If he never sees Ethan Hunt and his team again it'll be too soon.

* * *

They remain in the waiting room for another sixteen hours. Someone comes out every few hours to let them know how it's going. The doctors aren't holding out much hope, that much is obvious. So far they've got twenty-one viruses identified. They estimate that there are another half a dozen still left to go.

Will's still unconscious, but he seems to be responding to the antibiotics. It's not much, but his body is showing signs of fighting. Then again, it may not be enough, the doctors point out. No point in getting their hopes up, they say.

Benji and Jane have to physically restrain Ethan from beating someone up.

At the twenty-hour mark a doctor comes out and says, “One of you can go see him now, if you wish.”

Jane's asleep in a chair, and Benji nods at Ethan and says, “You go on, Ethan,” but Ethan's already halfway through the door.

Will's in another hospital bed, and there are so many more tubes in him than there were before. Ethan has to resist the urge to rip them out, but only because he knows that this time they're dripping antibiotics into his body instead of viruses. Will looks as white as the sheets, and he's covered to his chest in a thin blanket. His ECG, Ethan notices, isn't normal, but at least it's somewhat steady. He takes comfort in the beeping – it means Will's alive, and he's fighting.

Nearby there are two doctors, one of whom is extracting a blood sample from Will while the other adjusts one of the IV drips. Ethan pays them no mind as he approaches Will's bed and takes his hand carefully.

He doesn't know what to say, and even if he did he wouldn't say anything, not when there are others in the room. And so he just sits in silence and rubs his thumb over Will's knuckles.

He finally settles for a whispered, “I'm glad you're alive,” and kisses Will's forehead.

* * *

Three days pass with no change. There are a total of 28 viruses in Will's body. The doctors have begun treating all of them, and because they don't know how it'll turn out, they remain professionally vague whenever asked about it.

Ethan doesn't even ask what viruses they were. He doesn't think he can bear knowing. All he knows is that none of them were of the terminal variety, so if – _when_ – Will pulls through he'll be just fine. The thing with his situation is that there's no in-between. Either Will survives, or he doesn't. Either the viruses kill him, or they die off and leave his body.

On the fourth day, he finds himself sitting with Will, holding his hand as per usual. Jane and Benji have headed back to their hotel to get some rest, but Ethan refuses to budge from Will's side. He's not going to leave Will, not ever again.

He's lost in his thoughts when he feels a little twitch under his palm. Eyes widening, he looks at Will, before looking back at his hand. “Did you just–?” he inquires in hushed tones.

Will's fingers twitch again, and he mumbles something unintelligible. Ethan leans in close to hear, ignores the terrifying deja vu, and whispers, “Will, are you there?”

“Don't,” is all Will mumbles, his voice hoarse and broken. “Don't, please.” It's so quiet it's almost inaudible, but it's clear enough to understand.

For a moment Ethan thinks Will doesn't want him there, but that notion is dispelled a moment later when Will whispers, of all things, his name. “Ethan.” It sounds like a fucking miracle.

“I'm here, Will,” he murmurs, placing his hand on Will's face. “I'm right here. I'm not leaving you again, I swear. You're safe.”

But Will's already gone back to sleep.

* * *

The doctors tell the team the full diagnosis on day five, because that's when they finally figure out exactly what happened. The man they nabbed still hasn't talked yet.

The first thing the assholes did, they are told, was to starve Will. The more his body ran out of resources as it tried to keep him alive without sustenance, the weaker his immunity got. Just to make sure the job would be done, they injected him with immunosuppressants. When they were satisfied he was too weak to fight, they introduced the viruses into his body.

The doctors also explain their course of treatment – their first task, as soon as Will was brought in, was to stabilize him and take samples of his blood. They documented his symptoms and sought to treat those first, before going after the viruses. When his temperature was brought down and his heartbeat and breathing steadied, they moved on to the rest.

Ethan feels physically sick by the time the doctors are done talking. The words _possible liver and kidney injury_ won't leave his mind. There are so, so many side-effects, to everything – the immunosuppressants, the antivirotics and the viruses themselves. Will's stable, yes, but he hasn't been fully conscious since he was brought in, and there's still a frighteningly large chance that his body may just give up. Anything can go wrong. His immune system may not improve. His body might develop resistance to the antivirotics. The combination of viruses may be too much for his body to handle, resulting in it just shutting down. Worst of all, his brain could be affected, or his internal organs. He might never be fully okay again. He might not be able to go on missions again. He might not _survive_.

Ethan rises abruptly, makes his way to the nearest bathroom and dry-heaves into the toilet bowl, stomach feeling too full and heavy even though he hasn't had anything other than coffee for days. When he's done he flushes the toilet and sits back, head falling backwards against the thin partition dividing the stalls.

He's not surprised to realize he's crying.

* * *

It's day six. Ethan's alone with Will. Jane and Benji are out buying lunch.

There have been only slight improvements in Will's condition. His heartbeat is less erratic. His breathing is a bit more normal. His temperature, while still not at a healthy level, is below the danger zone. His skin is still pale, but there's a pinkish tinge to it that Ethan really hopes signifies returning health. His brain scans are normal, though, and so far that's been the biggest relief.

He's responding to the antibiotics, just not as fast as Ethan hoped. The doctors did say it would take time, more than a month maybe, for Will to return to normal, and that all they can do is wait and see how it turns out.

Ethan's holding Will's hand, absently playing with his fingers as he watches Will's chest rise and fall with each labored breath. Sometimes Will's fingers twitch, and sometimes he winces or murmurs in his sleep, but nothing concrete so far. (other than the one time he spoke Ethan's name). Ethan's not giving up hope, though, and he's never leaving Will's side ever again.

A few moments pass, and Will's eyes open slowly. Shaken out of his thoughts, Ethan moves closer and says softly, “Will?”

Will blinks at Ethan, eyes clouded with pain and something else Ethan can't identify. “Ethan?”

“Hey, it's me,” Ethan says, and squeezes Will's fingers. “You're going to be fine, okay? You're going to be just great.”

Will just looks at him, and a tear leaks out of the corner of his eye and runs into his hair. “What is it?” asks Ethan, leaning forward, feeling his own heart clenching. “Does it hurt, Will?”

“It's not the pain,” Will whispers hoarsely, and the coughs a little. “Ethan – I – I'm not gonna make it, am I?”

“You _are_ ,” Ethan answers fiercely. “You _have_ to. Do you hear me, Will? You're not allowed to die on me. Don't you _dare_.”

Another tear leaves his eye. “I don't seem... to have much choice in the – the matter,” Will says, stumbling over his speech, slurring a little. The words seem foreign in his mouth as he speaks them.

“You're stronger than this, Will,” Ethan tells him earnestly, ignoring his own watering eyes. “You're going to make it.” Almost without thinking about it, he wipes away Will's tears with his other hand.

Will doesn't respond for a few seconds, lying perfectly still. Just as Ethan's starting to get scared something's happened, though, he blinks and whispers, “Okay, Ethan.” Just like that.

Ethan smiles and leans forward again, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Is there anything you need?” he asks. “Anything you want?”

“No,” Will answers. “I'm – I'm okay. Sort of. Just–” He stops and bites his lip. The simple act makes affection well up inside Ethan in copious amounts. He had no idea how much he missed that.

“What is it, Will?” he asks gently, when Will doesn't go on. “Tell me what you need.”

Will's fingers spasm a little inside Ethan's hand, and automatically he grips them tighter. The gesture seems to relax Will, who lets out a small sigh and says, “Please, can you stay?”

“Of course,” says Ethan at once. “Of course I will.” He places his other hand on Will's forehead, his pinky and ring finger sinking into Will's hair. “Rest, okay? You need to rest. I'll be here when you wake up,” he promises.

Will just looks at him, but it's all Ethan needs. He doesn't take his hand away until Will's dozed off, and maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him but Ethan thinks Will is breathing easier now.

* * *

Jane and Benji return with lunch to find Ethan holding Will's hand and crying silently. He doesn't seem to have noticed them entering. Will looks a little better than before, and Jane figures out that he must have woken up for a bit. He's been going in and out of consciousness lately; sometimes he talks to them, sometimes he just watches them and smiles when they look at him. Mostly he just sleeps.

Benji puts the brown bag of food down and goes to lay a hand on Ethan's shoulder. “He's going to be fine, Ethan,” he says. “He's fighting, see? He looks better.”

Ethan glances up at Benji and offers him a smile that looks more like a grimace. “He was awake,” he says. “We talked a bit, and then he went back to sleep.”

Benji pulls up a chair and sits next to Ethan, but Jane remains standing. Ethan goes on, “He didn't think he was going to make it. I told him he had to. And he – he said, okay. Just like that, you know? And then I asked him if he wanted anything, and he asked me to stay.”

Benji smiles a little. “How – how is he feeling?”

“He said he felt okay,” Ethan says, wiping away his tears with his free hand. “I asked him if it hurt, and he said no, so I'm assuming that's a good thing. I'll discuss it with Connor when he comes in.”

“Be nice, okay?” Jane says. “You've terrified him enough. He's doing everything he can.”

Ethan nods, and looks a little ashamed of himself. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” He turns back to Will, watches him sleep for a few seconds, and then sighs. “Connor said it might take months before he's back to okay again. That's if nothing goes wrong.”

“It's looking good so far,” Benji says cautiously. “Eventually he'll be fine, Ethan. He's a fighter.”

“I know,” Ethan says with another sigh. “I just wish there was a faster, better way, you know? Something that will make him be okay again.” He knows Will hates it even more than anyone else, has always hated being sick or injured or basically held back in any way, and if Will has to stay at home for months to convalesce, he's going to go crazy.

Abruptly Jane hands her car keys to Benji, and says, “There's something I've got to do, okay? I'll be back soon.” And before either Benji or Ethan can question her, she leaves, the door swinging shut behind her.

“What's up with that?” wonders Benji.

Ethan shrugs, and goes back to watching Will. He ignores the paranoia deep in his gut, the horrible feeling that if he looks way for even a second, something might happen to Will.

* * *

When Jane comes back later on in the evening, her knuckles are bruised and her hair is disheveled. Ethan wonders what she's been up to, but he doesn't ask.

“I went to see the asshole who did this to Will,” she explains anyway, collapsing tiredly into a chair.

“And?” asks Benji warily.

“He talked,” she replies, raising her eyes to look at Benji and Ethan. There is something in them that Ethan can't name but recognizes anyway. Steely determination and anger and something else, and it's that moment that Ethan realizes that Jane will fuck over _anyone_ who messes with her team, and especially with Will. “Whatever they put in Will was just a prototype, a test run for some bigger virus they were planning on developing. Just the three of them were in on this. They were embezzling funds from their university to pay for all of this, calling it some kind of groundbreaking research.”

“Is there an antidote?” inquires Ethan directly, looking Jane in the eye, searching her face. “Did they make something that can fix him?”

She regards them for a minute, and then nods. “He didn't tell me where it was, so I called in reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements?” repeats Benji, looking awed. “Who?”

“Brassel,” she answers casually, like it's no big deal. “As we speak he is beating the shit out of the scumbag and probably receiving information faster than the speed of light.”

“You called _Brassel_ to interrogate a criminal?” Benji says, stunned. “And he _came_?”

“He considers Ethan a friend, and by extension Will,” Jane tells him, smiling a little at the look on his face. “And he's the best at getting things out of people. He'll let us know the minute he gets anything regarding the antidote.”

“Did you talk about this with Connor?” asks Ethan, daring to hope.

She nods. “I went to see him just before I came here.”

“Jane,” Ethan declares fervently, “I love you, Jane. You're amazing. You're _wonderful._ ”

Her response is sincere laughter. “Just doing what I can to help, Ethan.” She grows sombre again. “He's important to me, too, you know.”

Ethan looks at Will's sleeping face, and nods, all levity vanishing.

“Just promise me one thing?” she says, and he looks back at her. “When he wakes up again – tell him everything. Be honest with him for once.”

“Yeah,” adds Benji. “I think he needs to hear it, Ethan. And it's not like there's anything else you can say to explain away your recent behavior.”

A million reasons why that wouldn't be a good idea run through Ethan's head, but for once he ignores them. He pays no mind to any excuse forming in his mind. Instead, he nods and says, tone firm and decisive, “I'll talk to him.”

* * *

The next time Will comes to is a day after Jane interrogated the scientist. He blinks awake to see Ethan hovering him, a concerned smile in place. “Hey,” he mutters weakly, tongue feeling heavy inside his mouth. There's no pain, but there's no other sensation either. Mostly Will just feels really, really tired, but still considerably better than before.

“Hey,” Ethan answers, smile growing wider. “How are you feeling?”

“Not bad,” Will tells him, noting immediately that Ethan's holding his hand. He looks tired too, and there are dark circles under his eyes. His hair is limp and somewhat greasy, falling into his eyes. “Ethan, how long have you been here?” he inquires.

“Since they brought you in,” Ethan replies. He holds out a cup of water from the bedside table and Will takes it, sipping slowly at the straw. The liquid feels like heaven, and Will actually sighs happily as he feels it hit his stomach. He still can't have any kind of solid food, and he doesn't want to, either. Nausea is one of the more unpleasant side-effects of the antibiotics they have him on, and just the thought of eating something makes Will's stomach turn.

“Why?” he asks Ethan when he's done. “Ethan, you don't have to–”

“No, I _do_ ,” Ethan interrupts. “I have to, Will.” At Will's (adorably) confused expression, he goes on, “Remember when you were in the hospital after Bender stabbed you, and you asked me why I was there?”

Will nods.

“Remember I told you that you wouldn't understand yet?”

Will nods again. “You promised you'd tell me, and you never did,” he accuses. Then again, he was drugged and sleepy at the time, and so it slipped his mind as well.

Ethan steels himself. “Well, I'm telling you now.” He watches Will for a second, and then gets up from his chair, bending over him. Will is completely motionless, not stirring even a little bit as Ethan closes the gap between them and gently presses his lips to Will's.

He pulls away a second later, and looks at Will. “That's why,” he says. Will is watching him carefully, shock written all over his face. On the ECG, his heartbeat speeds up a little, but it's nothing that's reason to worry.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” Ethan says, feeling incredibly self-conscious now that he's gone and finally done what he's been wanting to do for ages. “Do you understand now?”

Will bites his lip, and Ethan has to resist the urge to kiss him again. Instead, he opts to watch Will, read the emotions playing out all over his face. A second goes by, then another, and another. Will's ECG returns to normal. When it's been almost a minute without any reaction from him, Ethan begins to panic internally. What if he's too late, and Will isn't interested anymore?

“Ethan,” says Will, and he blinks, focusing on the analyst giving him an amused ( _??? what even???_ ) glance. “Come here.”

Ethan obeys, still feeling panicky and apprehensive. There's no need, however. As soon as he's close enough Will angles his head forward and kisses Ethan. His lips are chapped and dry, and his skin is still too hot (not to mention the fact that he's still too weak to sit up), but dammit, this is perfect. It's fucking perfect and it's everything Ethan's wanted since Will fell asleep in his arms while watching Disney.

He's the one who breaks the kiss, though, and he almost laughs at Will's pout. “You're still sick,” he points out. “Don't overexert yourself.”

“I _wasn't_ ,” Will contradicts, scowling a little. “I was _enjoying myself_.”

“I'm pretty sure that comes under overexertion,” chuckles Ethan. “Get some rest, Will. We can continue this at a later date.”

Suddenly Will's face goes paper-white. “Shit,” he mutters, closing his eyes. “Shit, Ethan. I'm so sorry, oh God, I should have _realized_ –”

“What is it?” inquires Ethan, putting a hand to Will's face. “Will, what's wrong?”

“I'm still sick,” Will says, opening his eyes and giving Ethan a look that's equal parts horror and guilt. “Ethan, I'm _sick_ and we just kissed. What if I infected you?”

“You didn't,” Ethan begins, but Will steamrolls on right over him.

“What if you get whatever I have, oh my God. I am so _sorry_ , I'm a fucking idiot – what if you get sick too, Ethan, and it'll be _all my fault_ , because I couldn't hang on for just _some more days_ , holy shit, Ethan–”

“Will, _stop_ ,” Ethan says, laughing a little. Will looks a little offended at having his rambling interrupted, but Ethan doesn't care because Will's out of breath and panting, and having him shut up is probably a good idea. He puts his hand on Will's chest, over his heart, and intructs, “ _Breathe,_ Will. It's all right. Everything's okay.”

“Ethan,” begins Will, but Ethan shakes his head.

“You're not contagious,” he says. “I talked to the doctors, and the asshole who did this told Jane the same thing. Whatever they gave you was initially contagious, yes, but only via exchange of body fluids. And in any case, the antibiotics took care of the contagion. It's okay, Will. It's _okay_.”

Will heaves a sigh of relief, and visibly relaxes. “Thank God,” he whispers. “For a moment there, I thought that I'd–” He stops, shakes his head and closes his eyes, still breathing a bit too fast for Ethan's liking. Even through his chest and the thin hospital gown, Ethan can feel Will's heart beat.

“It's okay,” he repeats, and leans forward to kiss Will's forehead. “It's okay, Will. It's all right.”

Will wraps his arms around Ethan's neck and buries his face in his neck. Neither of them comment on the hot tears soaking through Ethan's shirt even as he rubs circles into Will's back and whispers soothing words.

* * *

Benji comes in on day nine to find Ethan kissing Will, and immediately yells and covers his eyes. “Didn't need to see that,” he rambles. “Totally didn't need to see that, oh my _God_.”

“Morning, Benji,” greets Ethan with a wry smile. “How's it going?”

“It was going fine until I saw you,” Benji answers somewhat ruefully. “Walking in on your team leader kissing the living daylights out of your teammate is _not_ my idea of an ideal morning.”

“You could have knocked,” suggests Will, whose face is pink.

“I would have, if I'd known to expect this,” points out Benji. “And in any case, shouldn't you two be holding off on the kissing for a while? He's still sick.”

“I tried to tell him that, but he didn't listen,” Ethan tells Benji, rolling his eyes.

“And you just went along with it?” Benji raises an eyebrow in an excellent impression of Jane.

Ethan shrugs. “The nurse said it was okay.”

“The nurse–” Benji flails a little, almost hitting Will in the face. “Are you _serious_?”

“Yes he is,” is Will's disgruntled answer. “He actually asked the frigging nurse if it was okay to kiss.”

Benji shakes his head. “I don't know why I'm surprised, really.”

“Where's Jane?” asks Ethan, changing the subject. “Shouldn't she be with you?”

“She came here with me and then went off on her own,” Benji tells him. “I think she said she had something to do.”

“Oh great, someone's going to get their ass handed to them,” Will says with a quiet groan. He doesn't care that Jane is beating criminals into submission – God knows they deserve it. He does care, though, that Jane's knuckles are increasingly bruised and that she always seems angry.

“I think this is a Hanaway thing,” Ethan says quietly, and Will blinks at him.

“How?” asks Benji.

“Well,” Ethan says, “she never got to tell him how she felt. She figured she'd have all the time in the world. And look how that ended up.”

“And what's that go to do with Will?”

“She doesn't like feeling helpless,” Will answers softly, understanding. “She was helpless when Hanaway died, she got there too late. And she felt helpless when I got taken.”

Ethan nods. “Basically.”

“That's – shit,” Benji sums it up. “Is there anything we can do to help her?”

“Will could get better,” Ethan says wryly.

“I'm working on it,” Will mutters, flapping a hand at Ethan. “In any case, _you_ just want me to get better so you don't have to worry about me dropping dead halfway through a kiss.”

“Let's be honest, that would be extremely unpleasant for me and you both,” agrees Ethan.

“Why the hell would it be unpleasant for me? The last thing I get to do is get kissed,” Will points out.

“I'm with Will on this one, mate,” Benji pipes up. “It's not a half-bad way to go out, you know?”

“As opposed to getting shot, stabbed, drowning, falling off tall buildings, exploding to bits, and a million other ways we're more likely to die,” Will says, and Ethan grins.

“Yeah okay, I'll give you that one.”

* * *

Jane arrives in the afternoon. Without so much as a greeting she barges into the room and says, “He talked. They've got a location on the antidote.”

“Really?” asks Benji excitedly, even as Ethan glares at them and tries to shush them – Will's just fallen asleep, one hand curled loosely around Ethan's.

Jane nods and shoots Ethan an apologetic glance. Her voice is much quieter when she says, “There's a team out to get it as we speak. They should have it here by tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“How do we know it's not a trap or anything?” inquires Benji.

There is a glint in Jane's eyes that Ethan doesn't like. “Trust me. It's not a trap,” she says. Ethan notes the dried blood crusted under her fingernails, coating her knuckles and splashed onto her shirt.

“Jane,” he says cautiously, “Jane, you need to take it easy.”

“Why?” she asks, unimpressed, as she takes a seat. “I got the information, didn't I?”

“That's not what I'm saying, and you know it,” Ethan says, voice low and soothing. “I understand, okay, I get how you feel. Hell, I don't think there's anyone in this room who gets it better than I do.” He nods down at his hand covering Will's. “But this isn't the best way to deal with it, Jane.”

She just looks at him and Benji for a while, and then at Will. When she speaks again, the hardness is gone from her face and her voice is soft and brittle. “Once, I got hurt on a mission,” she says, leaning forward and dropping her head in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. “I'd gotten hit on the head really hard. When I woke up in the hospital, Trevor was there.” Her voice shakes. “He hadn't left my side, you know? And he honest-to-God _cried_ when I woke up. And despite that, despite knowing that there was nothing he wouldn't do for me, nothing _I_ wouldn't do for _him_ , despite knowing that – I still couldn't tell him. I just couldn't say it. And I'm gonna regret that everyday for the rest of my life.” She looks up then, and there are tears shining in her eyes. “I didn't want you to go through that, Ethan. I don't want _anyone_ to go through that.” She pauses, and then adds, “And just, seeing Will there, seeing what they did to him... It made me so angry. I couldn't lose someone else. I just _couldn't_.” She looks directly at Ethan when she says the last bit.

He nods. “I know,” he says softly. After all, who knows loss better than him? “Trust me, Jane, I know. But you don't need to do this to yourself.”

“Yeah,” Benji says, oddly quiet. His voice is really different without the undercurrent of enthusiasm that's usually always there. “Look, Jane – I know it gets too much to handle sometimes, but – we're here, you know? You can talk to us. You don't have to hide anything from us.”

“Like I wouldn't figure it out in a second anyway,” comes Will's sleepy voice, and all three of them turn to look at him. “Yeah, I'm awake and I heard everything,” he says in response to their questioning looks. “And I agree, Jane. You can talk to us.”

She offers him a watery smile, and then extends it to Ethan and Benji. “Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay. I will.”

They smile back, and then Benji asks, clearing his throat awkwardly, “So, um. Jane. About the antidote.”

She rolls her eyes at his awkwardness, but her smile lets him know that it's okay. “Yeah. I talked to Connor, and he says that when it does arrive they'll have to test a sample to check if it's okay, if it'll work – just in case we've been led to a fake. And if it's all right, they can administer it to Will by tomorrow night.”

“And it'll fix everything?” queries Ethan. The idea of a fix-it cure, while wonderful, is a bit foreign. At Will's last blood check, there were eighteen viruses still in his system. While the number has gone down considerably, the fact still remains that it can take Will weeks just to clear his system of the viruses. His immunity is better and his body is fighting, and he's been deemed out of danger. Even though he can't go on any missions for at least six months, more if he can't get his strength back quickly.

The idea of a miracle cure seems too good to be true.

“It should,” is Jane's answer to Ethan's question. “They developed it keeping their mixture in mind. At best it should cure him completely. At the very least it will neutralize the remaining viruses and let his body get rid of them in its own time.”

“And side effects?” asks Will, a little apprehensively.

Jane exhales. “No idea,” she confesses. “Connor says they won't know anything for sure until they can sample it.”

Will nods and leaves it at that, but there's an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. What if it doesn't work–?

Ethan, seeming to have read his mind like always, squeezes his fingers and smiles at him wordlessly. Benji speaks for all of them when he says, “Well, let's just hope for the best, then.”

* * *

Connor arrives the next morning to talk to them about the antidote. He says the exact same things Jane told them, and then adds, “It's being sampled now – we should have some results in a couple of hours or so.”

Jane spends those hours pacing up and down the length of Will's room, lips pressed into a tight line. Benji tries to distract himself with a comic book, occasionally reading out bits and pieces to Will to try to take his mind off things. It doesn't work, even though Will appreciates the effort. He spends the time just sitting quietly with Ethan, occasionally gripping his fingers tightly.

None of them eat – they have no appetite. Eventually Jane stops pacing and sits down on the bed on Will's other side, and takes his other hand. Benji puts his book away and settles for playing with the edge of Will's blanket.

To Ethan, it feels horribly like these are the last few hours he gets to spend with Will, even though the doctors said he's going to live. If the antidote doesn't work Will will be left weak, tired and ill – for a long time. Then again, reflects Ethan, a fatigued, recuperating Will is better than no Will at all, and he resolves to hope for the best.

* * *

“It seems to be safe,” Connor tells them some time later, when he comes in for his afternoon checkup on Will. “We're thinking we should administer it as soon as possible. Like, right now.”

Will, who was dozing off with his head on Ethan's shoulder, jerks awake. “Now?” he repeats, and Ethan doesn't miss the undertone of fear in his voice.

Connor nods.

“It's going to be okay,” Benji tells Will, squeezing his shoulder. “It'll be all right, Will.”

“We'll be there with you every step of the way,” Jane assures him.

“Actually, um, no,” Connor says hesitantly, and a bit guiltily. “You guys are going to have to leave so we can work without any distractions.”

Jane looks like she's going to argue, but before she can say a word Benji hastily says, “Okay, then. We'll be waiting outside.” He raises an eyebrow at Jane and she sighs in resignation before following him outside.

“Yell for me if you need me, okay?” Ethan says to Will, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “I'll be right outside.”

Will nods mutely. Ethan squeezes his fingers one last time before letting go, and going outside.

* * *

Connor comes out to see them in the evening. He finds Jane pacing the waiting-room, Benji asleep in a chair, and Ethan staring blankly at a wall. They all snap to attention when they see him, and immediately he holds up his hand to halt the barrage of questions he knows is inevitable. “He's okay,” he says almost defensively. “His blood work is showing progress. There are only six viruses left, and they should be gone by tomorrow.”

Jane visibly relaxes, and collapses into a chair. Next to her, Benji mutters something under his breath that no one can catch, but it doesn't take a genius to tell that he's more relieved than he's been in the past few weeks since Will was taken.

Ethan just asks, “Can I see him?”

Connor shakes his head. “Not right now, sorry,” he says, and does sound sincerely apologetic. “He's asleep and it's best for his body to rest right now, so that it can get rid of the viruses as fast as possible. You can see him in the morning, though. Why don't you go get some rest yourself in the meanwhile?” he suggests.

Ethan pays no heed to the last sentence, and says, “He _is_ going to be okay, isn't he?”

Connor nods. “Oh yes. I wouldn't have believed it possible, but he'll be just fine in some time. The antidote's sped up his healing process considerably. He'll be all right.”

The biggest weight Ethan's ever carried slides off his shoulders, and he actually hugs Connor. The man freezes, clearly expecting Ethan to shank him or something, but when nothing happens he tentatively pats Ethan's back.

“Thanks,” Ethan says, voice heavy with emotion. “Thank you so much. And I'm sorry for being an asshole to you.”

Connor coughs awkwardly and says, “Just doing my job, Ethan.”

Ethan steps away and smiles. “I'm going to send you a fruit basket,” he declares. “A gigantic one.”

“I'm not going to refuse that,” Connor says, eyebrow raised, “so if you didn't mean that I'd say now's the best time to let me know.”

Ethan actually laughs. “Don't worry, you'll get your fruit basket,” he tells him. “But only after I get Will.”

“Fair enough,” says Connor, and offers Ethan his first sincere smile, untainted by the terror Ethan had implanted earlier.

* * *

Jane and Benji head over to the hotel after that, and for once Ethan goes with them. He showers for the first time in days and changes, and grabs himself a bite to eat. He considers sleeping, but decides against it. What if something happens during the night, and he's not there?

So he tells Jane and Benji he's leaving, and returns to the hospital. He doesn't sleep the entire night.

* * *

Will's still asleep when Connor finally lets Ethan go see him. Jane and Benji haven't returned from the hotel yet.

There's something remarkably different, though – Will's skin is lukewarm instead of hot, and is flushed a healthy pink. He actually looks comfortable as he sleeps, instead of the perpetual uneasiness he'd had to deal with previously. Ethan smiles as he takes in the lack of tubes and bags surrounding Will. There's just one IV line attached to his right hand, slowly dripping nutrients into his bloodstream.

“His blood work came back clear,” Connor tells Ethan with a small smile. “There'll be some symptoms for a few days or so. Nothing to worry about, just his body getting rid of what's left and adjusting back. He might be feverish and dehydrated, so I'd suggest someone stays with him while he recovers.”

“And after?” Ethan realizes he's whispering, like the smallest sound might undo everything the antidote's done.

“Feed him enough carbs and protein and he should be fine,” Connor answers. “And plenty of fresh air should do the trick.”

Ethan nods, and glances at Will before turning back to Connor. “I can't tell you how grateful I am.”

Connor raises his eyebrow. “I'll believe it when I see the fruit basket,” he teases.

Ethan grins at that. “Soon, soon,” he promises. “Uh – is there anything else?”

“Nothing,” replies Connor with a wry, knowing smile. “Okay then, I'll leave you to it.” He exits the room, leaving Ethan and Will alone.

Ethan considers waking Will, but decides against it. He looks so content, finally sleeping without the help of drugs and unhindered by discomfort and pain. Ethan doesn't have the heart to bring him back from that kind of rest.

So instead he settles for taking his hand and waiting, except this time when he cries it's due to happiness and relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo. *prods* feedback? Comments? Anything?
> 
>  
> 
> ~~I worked my ass off for this chapter you all better like it and comment or i'm sending a pissed off Ethan after you, no joke~~


	9. IMF Prank History: a Summary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will, Ethan and Benji meet Jane's new boyfriend - and disapprove. Very, _very_ much. Cue epic prank war initiated by Benji and Will (who also manages to talk Ethan into it).
> 
> OR
> 
> The tale of how IMF prank history was made, featuring hamsters, pennies, and ass surgery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals have been kicking my _ass_.
> 
> Experimented a bit with Jane and Benji's POVs in this one, hope it doesn't ruin the flow of the story.

Jane's eyebrow twitches when she takes in what Ethan's wearing. “Ethan,” she says deadpan. “What is this.”

He glances down at his attire – faded jeans and a horrible yellow polo shirt with scruffy loafers – and asks, “What's what?”

With an exasperated sigh Jane turns to Will. “Will, what's this?”

“Ethan's horrible fashion choices,” replies Will, completely straight-faced.

Ethan kicks Will in the shin. “I see _nothing_ wrong with what I'm wearing.”

“Ethan, mate, no, it's horrible,” grimaces Benji. “Normally I'm not one to be talking about fashion, but dear Lord, you're terrible.”

There is a pause as Ethan glares at Benji and Will attempts to hide his smile. Jane checks her watch and says, “He'll be here any minute now, there isn't even time for you to go change – _ugh_ Ethan.” The suit he'd worn at Will's seminar had been better, for God's sake.

Unconcerned, Ethan sits down serenely at the table and picks up a menu.

Jane's invited them all to a fancy restaurant so that they can meet her new boyfriend. Of course, she hadn't been counting on Ethan making a horrible first impression (as is inevitable), and she can only hope this does not indicate how the rest of the evening is going to go. “You,” she seethes at Will, “you're in charge of his wardrobe next time, you hear?”

He throws his hands up in a placating gesture. “Jane, I have absolutely zero control over what he decides to wear,” he answers, not looking so amused anymore.

“Just go over to his place beforehand and make sure he doesn't do this kind of thing again,” she sighs, because it's really hard to stay mad at Will, especially when he makes that face.

He nods. “Okay,” he says, and takes a seat next to Ethan. Benji slides in opposite them, leaving two chairs empty for Jane and her boyfriend.

“Tell us more about this person that we're supposed to meet,” Benji says, looking up at Jane expectantly.

“His name's Philip,” Jane answers absently, craning her neck to see if he's here yet. It's fifteen minutes past the time he's supposed to be here. “Philip Ripley. He works in PR.”

“What the hell do we need PR for?” asks Ethan, putting down his menu. The sight of his yellow shirt contrasting with Will's simple gray V-neck makes Jane's eyes water.

She snorts at his question. “Who do you think covers up all the shit we get up to?” she asks.

Ethan shrugs. “Never thought about it. So – PR?”

“Yep. He's a nice guy, you'll like him.”

Ethan nods. “You're looking good today,” he then tells Will, who grins.

“Because I know how to dress myself, you overgrown child,” he answers, and Jane can't help but agree.

“Really, Ethan,” she says. “Why can't you be more like Will?”

He has the nerve to look affronted. “Did you seriously just ask me that? Why can't _Will_ be more like _me_?”

“It's probably a good thing he's not,” interjects Benji. “One reckless idiot is quite enough for the team, thanks a lot. No offense, Ethan,” he adds.

“None taken,” Ethan answers, but it's negated by his somewhat annoyed tone.

“Aw, don't be a grouch,” teases Will. “I'm pretty sure there's someone who dresses worse than you do.”

“Keep it up and I'm revoking Stingray privileges,” threatens Ethan, theatrically jangling the car keys in front of Will's face before pulling them out of reach.

Will just rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like I don't know how to hotwire a car.”

Ethan's eyes actually go wide. “You wouldn't. You wouldn't do that.” When Will just continues looking smug, he exclaims, “it's a _classic_ , Will! You can't do that to a classic!”

Before the argument can go further, Jane shushes them and says, “He's here, shut _up_!” She's just seen his dark curly head through the throng of people in the restaurant, and a waiter is leading him their way.

She just hopes her teammates behave themselves.

* * *

The first thing Benji notices about Philip Ripley is his mane of curly black hair, tied in a ponytail at the base of his neck but still somehow managing to be all over his face. The second is that he is dressed possibly even worse than Ethan.

“I take it back,” he hears Will whisper to their team leader. “You are infinitely better dressed than him.”

Ethan's answer is a self-indulgent grin and a kiss to Will's cheek. Benji resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's a bit annoying, having to deal with so much cute. Not that Benji minds too much, though – it hasn't escaped his notice that ever since Ethan manned up and told Will the truth, they've both been much happier. Will's cheerful in a way he rarely used to be, and Ethan's much more easygoing and laidback than he was before. Overall Benji thinks the team's been running much more smoothly, too. They've only been on two missions since Will got taken, but they went off beautifully.

He'd be lying too, if he said Ethan isn't good for Will. The man practically moved into Will's apartment the first week after his release from the hospital, and refused to leave until the doctors gave Will a clean bill of health. And since then he's been making sure that Will's doing okay, that he's recovering well and is basically just fine. Two months to the day, and Will's better than Benji's ever seen him.

He snaps out of his thoughts when he hears a suppressed chuckle. It's Ethan, who seems to be giving Ripley a cursory once-over. And looking at Ripley's bright-red skinnies, lime green button up and pale yellow Converse, Benji decides he can't blame Ethan for laughing.

Will, on the other hand, is alert, watching Ripley closely. Jane looks like she might throw up, but she stands and graciously introduces them anyway. “Phil, this is my team,” she says with a genuine smile (they're practically family, and Benji knows that Jane nurses a soft spot for them even if she'll never say so). “Benji Dunn, Ethan Hunt and Will Brandt. Guys, this is Phil Ripley.”

“I know you people,” Ripley says, not smiling and completely ignoring the hand Ethan extends to shake. Ethan takes it back, frowning a little. “Aren't you the guys who stopped Hendricks?” He turns to Jane without waiting for a reply. “You never told me you were on that team!”

“It never came up,” is Jane's level reply. “Why don't you sit down, Phil?”

He does so, without even looking at her. Benji decides he dislikes him. The feeling intensifies when, instead of asking Jane how she is, or anything at all, he leans towards Ethan and asks, “Is it true you climbed the tallest building in the world?”

Ethan frowns a little, and nods. “Yes.”

Ripley turns to Will. “And you jumped down a cooling array to hack into a computer?”

Will nods wordlessly, and shares a glance with Ethan. Benji resists the urge to roll his eyes. Just been a couple of months, and they're already having silent conversations. Though if he's being accurate, they've been having conversations with their eyeballs for a long time before they got together.

“So that means that you're the one who killed Moreau!” exclaims Ripley, finally fixing his attention on Jane.

She looks a little uncomfortable, but nods all the same. “Yes,” she says. She's not proud of it, knows Benji, and she doesn't like talking about it.

Will notices Jane's discomfort and says, “Let's take a look at the menu, yeah?” Bless his soul, thinks Benji fondly. The man's perfect at reading people, and it helps when ruffled feathers need smoothing.

Ripley isn't interested in anything the menu has to offer, though. “What did _you_ do?” he asks Benji.

“Oh, nothing,” intervenes Ethan smoothly before Benji can speak. “Just did a brilliant job on the tech side of things and made sure we didn't get our asses roasted, that's all.”

Ripley doesn't look impressed. “But what did you do in the field? Did you just sit behind the computer all the time?”

“No, I was with Ethan on the Kremlin mission,” Benji says.

“And he did brilliantly,” interjects Ethan when Ripley looks like he's going to say something that will most probably annoy everyone. Benji decides he really dislikes him a lot.

Thankfully, the waiter arrives just then, and Ripley's forced to shut up and look at the menu. Benji rolls his eyes in Will and Ethan's direction, and they grin back at him.

_What an asshole_ , mouths Will.

_I don't like him_ , Benji replies.

They share a conspiratorial look over Ethan's head.

* * *

The rest of the dinner goes smoothly. That is, until dessert, when Ethan decides to get cute with Will again.

Jane's smiling as she watches them, and even though Benji is rolling his eyes he's secretly entertained that Ethan is attempting to feed Will off his own bowl of ice-cream. It doesn't work, only because Will keeps batting him away. “We're in public, Ethan,” he hisses more than once, but Ethan isn't discouraged.

Finally Will gives up and accepts the ice-cream, and rolls his eyes at the shit-eating grin on Ethan's face. It's a nice light-hearted moment, and Benji's almost forgotten that Ripley's there, until Ripley opens his mouth and decides to remind them all of his presence.

He does a pretentious little cough, as if to clear this throat, and then says, “Should you be doing that in public?”

Ethan's hand pauses halfway to his mouth, and he raises an eyebrow. “Why, what's wrong with it?” he asks, his voice an open challenge, like he's daring Ripley to say something to the contrary.

“It's just a bit gross, that's all,” Ripley answers, and Benji has to resist the urge to throw his spoon at him. “I mean, there are families around.”

Will nods his head towards a nearby table, where a couple has foregone food in favor of kissing the faces off each other. “And that's okay?”

Ripley glances over, and then shrugs. “Well, that's a guy and a girl. You two are guys. Not like I'm a homophobe or anything,” he adds hastily, “just that I don't think it's something you should be, you know, _advertising._ ”

Ethan's eyebrow twitches, and Benji recognizes the signs of an oncoming I-Will-Punch-the-Shit-Out-of-You Bitchfit (he tries not to reflect on the fact that he and Will have names for all of Ethan's expressions). Apparently Will does too, because he immediately grabs Ethan's arm and mutters a firm, “Ethan,  _ no _ .”

Jane looks the angriest Benji's seen her, almost as angry as she'd been around Moreau, and Benji actually feels a little scared of her. He has no doubt at all that if there weren't people around, she would have kicked Ripley's ass a long time ago. As it is, she looks like she's having trouble resisting the urge to wring his neck.

Ethan is glaring at Ripley, and Benji's quite sure that he too would have killed Ripley if it wasn't for Will's hand on his arm. He too is pondering ways of causing Ripley pain without being too obvious, but so far his mind's coming up empty. Mainly because if he does something now it'll cause a scene, and he doesn't want that.

Dinner is awkward as hell after that. No one talks. Jane keeping shooting angry looks into her pudding, and Ethan is glowering at the ice-cream in front of him and Will. The analyst keeps muttering inaudible words, meant to soothe Ethan, and for now they seem to be working.

For now. Benji's not too sure about what's going to happen to Ripley in the near future. Judging by Jane's expression, though, at the very least he'll be single by the end of tonight.

He didn't think things could get worse, but then the waiter arrives with the bill and Ripley puts his spoon down, turning expectantly towards Jane. “I've forgotten my wallet at home,” he tells her, and Benji may not be as good at reading people as Will, but even he can hear the lie. “Sorry, Jane, darling.”

She grits her teeth and reaches for her purse, but Will stops her. “We'll split the bill,” he says.

“Sounds good,” shrugs Ethan, and Benji resists the urge to add that anything Will says sounds good to Ethan. Because they're gooey idiots that way.

(When they're not teaming up and being terrifying, that is. Literally terrifying. The target on their last mission actually peed in his pants when Will and Ethan decided to gang up on him. Benji doesn't think he'll ever forget that expression of pure terror.)

So everyone coughs up some cash and hands it over, except for Ripley, who sits back and doesn't even try to hide the satisfaction he feels on getting free food. Benji wishes to slam his face into a brick wall, but unfortunately there are no brick walls around.

“Oh, by the way,” Ripley says once they're outside. “My car broke down, so Jane darling, drive me?”

She nods, her mouth set in a tight line. Benji almost feels bad for Ripley. Almost. He has no idea of the ass-kicking he's about to receive.

“Thanks, darling,” Ripley says, smiling and displaying his yellow teeth. He turns to the others. “Nice meeting you all, though I didn't expect the team that saved the world to be so – so _simple_ , you know?”

“Meaning?” asks Ethan, voice icy.

“Well, you guys are so _normal!_ ” Ripley says. “What's so special about you then? How are you different from any other IMF team?” Before he can babble on though, Jane grabs his elbow and practically manhandles him into her car.

“I'll see you guys later,” she says, attempting to smile but it looks more like a grimace.

“Bye, Jane,” replies Benji.

“Please don't kill him,” adds Will. “Feel free to maim him, but not kill, okay?”

She does smile at that. “I'll try to keep that in mind,” she says, her voice a lot lighter. In a few moments she's gone, and Benji feels a vicious stab of satisfaction when he thinks of Ripley getting his ass handed to him by Jane.

“Arsehole,” says Benji the moment Jane's Corvette is out of sight.

Ethan nods in agreement. “I hope Jane breaks a few bones,” he says fervently. “I can't believe she thought he's dating material.”

“She didn't,” counters Will. “Did you see her tonight? She looked furious. My guess is that the little shit probably seemed all professional and cool and suave around her, and thought that he could get away with being an asshole tonight. Anyway – I definitely don't feel bad for what's coming to him.”

“Oh, I'm looking forward to the details tomorrow,” says Benji as they make their way across the parking lot. He reaches his car and says, “So I'll see you two at work, then?”

Will nods. “Later, Benji.”

“Hey, where's your car?” Benji asks a second later, when he realizes Will's Ghibli is nowhere to be seen.

“I came with Ethan, he's taking me back home,” Will explains.

Benji rolls his eyes at the goofy grin on Ethan's face. “Make good choices,” he tells them with a grin of his own. “Use protection.”

Will cuffs him upside the head. “Go home, you sad single creature.”

“And remember that I can singlehandedly ensure you never get laid,” Ethan adds cheerfully.

Benji's eyes go wide. “Okay, okay, I'm leaving!” he says frantically. “Arseholes,” he mutters a second later, and takes care to reverse in a manner that makes sure Will and Ethan's clothes are covered in gravel dust.

When he looks back in the rearview mirror, they're laughing at him. _Bastards_ , he thinks fondly.

* * *

Jane does call him the next day, and he hates how tired and resigned she sounds. “I broke up with him,” she tells him. “I'm so sorry about last night. I had no idea he'd be such a fuckhead.”

“Don't sweat it, Jane,” Benji tells her. “You didn't know, it's okay.”

She sighs. “I just feel so bad, you know? All the stuff he said. If I'd have known what kind of asshole he is, I'd never have asked him out–”

“Jane, _we know_ ,” Benji interrupts. “Don't worry about it. In any case, I've already sent a virus to his work computer.”

He can hear her smile when she answers. “What kind of virus?”

“A bad, bad kind,” he promises. “Look, forget whatever happened and let us take care of it, okay?”

“Take care of it?” Now she sounds apprehensive.

“Oh, you know, just getting back at him,” Benji answers nonchalantly. “Like this virus, eh?”

“Benji, let it be,” she says sternly. “The virus is fine, but no revenge plans, okay? I know you and Will, and I know you two can be creative when you need to be, but not this time, okay?”

Benji crosses his fingers and lies through his teeth. “Sure, Jane.”

The minute she hangs up he calls Will. “We need to do something about Ripley.”

“Oh, good,” says Will, and he sounds delighted. “I was gonna call and say the same thing. Let's make the little shit pay, yeah?”

Benji thinks he can hear Ethan mutter “Will, _no_ ” in the background. “Ignore him,” he says cheerfully. “Ethan doesnt know how to have fun.”

There is a scuffle on the other side, during which he can hear Will muttering curses and Ethan making sounds of exertion, and then Ethan's saying, “I do _too_ know how to have fun. I'm just saying, maybe we should leave Ripley alone, forget it ever happened, you know?”

“No, that's a bad idea,” decides Benji. “We should not do that. Now give the phone back to Will. What are you even doing in his office anyway?”

“He's distracting me from work, that's what he's doing,” answers Will, sounding distant. Benji guesses he's standing next to Ethan with the phone on speaker.

“I didn't hear you complaining,” argues Ethan.

“Well, _obviously_ , because you kept me busy,” retorts Will.

“Guys,” groans Benji, because _honestly_. “Please don't tell me you're making out in Will's office.”

“We're not, you moron,” says Will, sounding amused. “He just refuses to shut up, that's all. And he won't stop drawing on my desk.”

“You know what? Do whatever you want, I give up,” declares Benji. “Just don't get caught kissing by Brassel–”

“There is _no_ kissing going on!” exclaims Ethan in exasperation. “Yet,” he adds, and Benji can picture the grin on his face.

“Oh for God's sake!” he all but yells, and hangs up to the sound of Will and Ethan's laughter.

* * *

He later finds out that some extremely R-rated things went on in that office, and he resolves never to enter it again. At least, not without giving Will fifteen minutes' notice. He's walked in on them enough times already, and he doesn't think his brain can handle that kind of repetitive assault.

* * *

Benji meets up with Will and Ethan after they finish with work, at a McDonald's nearby. He's wearing a smug grin that takes Will around 0.3 seconds to notice and comment on. “What's up, Benji?”

“Oh, nothing,” says Benji, aware of exactly how cheerful he sounds. “Just that there might or might not be some viruses in Ripley's computer.”

“What kind?” asks Will, immediately interested. Ethan rolls his eyes and goes off to order.

Benji's grin widens. “Well, let's just say that the next time anything non-work-related happens on that computer, we'll know.”

“For instance?” inquires Will, a smile growing on his face.

Benji winks. “Like I said – we'll know. Just wait and watch.”

Will nods, and then looks around to make sure that Ethan's still out of earshot. “I have an idea as well.”

“Do share,” replies Benji.

Will leans forward. “Listen up, this is going to take time, patience and manpower.”

* * *

Will understands what Benji meant the next day, when he receives a forwarded email from Benji. It contains a transcript of a phone call made to IT help from PR.

_**Caller:** Is this the IT department help section? _

_**IT:** Yes, it is. How can we help you? _

_**Caller:** There seems to be some kind of virus in my computer. I booted it up and it was fine until I tried to use the Internet, at which point it just... stopped working. _

_**IT:** All right... can you be a little more specific? _

_**Caller:** How much more specific? _

_**IT:** Define “stopped working”. _

_**Caller:** Well, the screen went blank and now there are some extremely inappropriate images on it that won't go away no matter what I do. _

_**IT:** Okay, then. We'll be sending someone down to help you ASAP. Name and department please? _

_**Caller:** Phillip Ripley, PR. _

Will calls Benji the second he's done reading it. “What did you do?” he asks before Benji can even say hello.

“I've told you, I planted the virus,” Benji answers gleefully. “I'm on my way to see it right now – tell you what, don't hang up. I'll put my phone in my pocket so you can hear everything that happens.”

“I've got work to do,” begins Will, but then changes tack. “Will it be entertaining?”

“Extremely,” promises Benji. “I'm going to pretend to hang up and put the phone in my pocket now – you stay here.”

There are some sounds of Benji handling the phone, before it's slipped into his pocket and everything takes on a slightly more muffled quality.

“Okay, what's the problem?” asks Benji.

“I've already explained the problem to whoever answered the phone,” answers Ripley irritably.

There is a pause as Benji looks at the screen, and then, “I think I've identified the problem.” From Benji's voice it's quite clear that he's restraining laughter, and Will absently wonders how he even passed IMF's acting classes.

“Well, what is it?” asks Ripley.

“It's a virus, a pretty basic one,” Benji explains, and this time he's not even bothering to hide the glee in his voice. “Basically, it targets your web browser. It's triggered by a specified website, or kind of website – or anything, really, depending on how smart its creator is – and then it freezes the screen as it is.”

“I don't care how it _works_ ,” Ripley says imperially. “Just get rid of it.”

“On it,” Benji answers, and then says in a mock disapproving tone, “should you really be watching porn on an office computer, though?”

Will almost chokes on thin air, and has to stifle his laughter with his fist.

“I –” begins Ripley, but Benji cuts him off.

“This is an office computer, you know, you're not allowed to watch porn on it. I feel like I should report you.”

“Don't do that,” Ripley groans. “Come on, man, be a bro. What would Jane say if she knew?”

“She wouldn't condone you watching lesbian porn on an office computer in the first place,” Benji reminds him. “I'm gonna let this go just this once, okay? Next time, I report you.”

There is silence, and the clacking of keys, and then Benji says, “There, all fixed. You be careful now.”

“Whatever,” mutters Ripley.

Will waits until Benji whispers an all clear before bursting into laughter.

* * *

He meets up with Benji again after work, and together they jog off to the parking lot. Benji lets out a triumphant “HA!” when he spots Ripley's car.

“How did you manage that?” he asks, a tone of admiration in his voice, as he gazes at the paper-covered car. Hundreds of colorful Post-It notes ensure that not even an inch of the original paintwork can be seen.

“I paid off a couple of interns,” shrugs Will.

Benji grins. “Ah, excellent. They're not going to talk though, are they?”

“I made them swear on their mothers,” Will tells him with a somewhat devious grin. Benji resolves never to get on Will's bad side.

“Quite the evil side you've got there,” he observes. “Does Ethan know?”

“Nope,” answers Will. “He thinks we should let this go, so he probably wouldn't have let me proceed with the Post-It plan.”

They hide behind a car as Ripley walks past, and smile at each other in satisfaction when Ripley lets out a very shrill scream. He circles his car for ten or so minutes, evidently trying to figure out how to drive it home. Eventually he just removes the notes off the windows and gets in, and it looks to Benji suspiciously like he's been pulling his hair out.

A deep feeling of satisfaction settles in his stomach.

* * *

Jane calls Benji later that evening. “Did you and Will do this?” she asks before he can even say hello.

“Do what?” asks Benji, in his best impression of an innocent tone.

“Don't play dumb with me, Benji,” she sighs. “Phil's car covered in Post-It notes. Did you two do it?”

Benji pretends to be surprised. “Really? Who would do that?”

“Benji.”

“It wasn't us, Jane, honest,” he lies, crossing his fingers. “I had to stay late to help with some IT issues, and I think Will was with Ethan. You can ask Jill at IT, she'll tell you.” Jill at IT has also been paid off by Will.

Jane sighs again. “You better be telling the truth,” she warns. “Look, I know he's an asshole, and I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it, but we need to be the better people here, okay? Just forget it.”

Benji takes a second to reflect on how she sounds so eerily like Ethan, and then he says, “I get it, Jane. It wasn't us.”

“Okay,” she says, and that is that. Benji almost feels guilty for lying to her, but he gets it.

* * *

“ Did you really have to?” Ethan asks, once Will is done recounting the events of the day. They're at Ethan's apartment, unwinding on the couch after dinner.

“Excuse you, we were awesome, okay,” Will retorts, narrowing his eyes a little.

“I'm not saying you two weren't totally brilliant,” Ethan says. “It was fucking amazing, but _did you have to_?”

Will glares. “Of course we did, the man's a complete asshat! He had it coming, Ethan!”

Ethan considers for a moment, and then grins. “Yeah, okay, not gonna argue that one. Did you really pay off interns, though?”

With an exaggerated eye-roll, Will says, “Yes, Ethan, I did. All's fair in love and war, you know.”

“War?” repeats Ethan with an amused snort. “I don't know about war here, but love on the other hand...” He grins suggestively.

“You need to work on your pickup lines,” is all Will can say before Ethan attacks him with his mouth.

* * *

Will calls Benji from work the next morning. “Hey, can you hack into the feed near Ripley's cubicle and send it to my computer?”

“Yeah, why?” asks Benji, talking around the bagel in his mouth.

“Don't talk with food in your mouth, idiot,” Will reprimands, before answering, “I just made a great addition to his office, that's all. Oh, and send a feed to Ethan's computer as well.”

“Ethan? Have you got him on board, then?” inquires Benji, and Will can already hear the sound of typing over the phone.

“Not yet, no,” he replies, “but I'm working on it.” A few seconds later, his screen flickers on and sure enough, there's a black and white video feed of Ripley's cubicle.

“Will, where's his desk?” asks Benji.

“It's right there, in the center, can't you see?” asks Will, unable to keep the smugness out of his tone.

“I know, but it's _tiny_ ,” Benji points out, and his wide grin is obvious even over the phone. “That's _brilliant_ , Will, when did you do this?”

“I came in early today,” Will tells him. “It took me some time convincing Ethan to wake an hour early, but I did it.”

“Ah, so you stayed over last night,” exclaims Benji with an altogether different tone of voice. “Which, you know, is great and everything, but please spare me the details.”

“Who was gonna give you details in the first place, dumbass?” grumbles Will. “Mind your own business.”

“I'd love to, but you guys kind of involve everyone,” Benji points out. “Like that time you two made out in the elevator. With five other people in it. Or the time when Brassel caught you in a broom cupboard–”

“Yes, I get it, thanks a lot,” Will interrupts, glad that Benji can't see his red face. “And in our defense, Brassel was there for the same reason we were, and so he couldn't exactly hold us accountable.”

“Yeah?” Benji asks, interested. “Tell me more.”

“ _No_ , you gossipy old lady, we swore we'd keep our mouths shut,” Will laughs. “I've already told you too much. Any more, and I might have to kill you.”

“Fine, be that way,” grumbles Benji. “Not like I can't find out on my own, anyway.”

“Yeah, good luck,” chortles Will, before hanging up.

* * *

Benji emails Will again with another transcript of a call to IT. Apparently, every time Ripley tries to print something, the printer gets a paper jam. When he tries to clear the jam, the printer dies.

Will grins as he deletes the email after he's done reading it. The simplest pranks are often the best.

 

* * *

He's watching a movie with Ethan the next weekend, lying on the couch with his head in Ethan's lap. They're watching  _ We Are Marshall _ , and the air between them is comfortable, relaxed. Ethan's absently playing with Will's hair and munching on popcorn with the other, careful not to let any of it fall on Will.

Will waits till the commercials are on, and then says, “Hey, work with us.”

“What?” asks Ethan, not quite comprehending. “Work with who?”

“Me and Benji,” Will answers. “Help us out with Ripley.”

“Why?” questions Ethan. “You two seem to be doing fine on your own.”

“Well, yes,” concedes Will, “but it doesn't hurt to have someone else help us out too, you know.”

Ethan pretends to consider, even though he's been sold since the moment Will turned on the puppy eyes. “What's in it for me?” he finally asks.

“You get shits and giggles,” Will points out. “And other benefits that Benji doesn't have,” he adds with a grin.

“Well, when you put it that way...” Ethan says, mock thoughtfully. “Hell, why not,” he finally says, and dimly wonders just how much trouble he can talk his way out of in the future, if they're caught.

It's worth it though, because Will is looking delighted as he texts Benji with the good news, and Ethan can't help but smile as well.

He's so fucking gone over Will.

* * *

What follows the next week will go down in IMF history as the best prank ever, though of course they don't know it at the time. Once again Benji hacks into the cameras near Ripley's office and sends a feed to Will's computer, where Will and Ethan watch in amusement as Ripley cowers in a corner.

There are hamsters  _ everywhere _ , tiny brown and white little furballs on every surface, nibbling on Ripley's stationery and chewing his papers, shitting everywhere. This is quite possibly the best idea Ethan's ever had in his entire life, and when a hamster scampers over Ripley's legs, causing him to scream, Ethan forgets any and all regrets and doubts he might have had about joining in on Benji and Will's pranks.

* * *

The next morning is Benji's turn, and he goes for an old classic, with a new twist – he slathers superglue all over Ripley's desk chair (normal-sized – Ripley had his furniture replaced after Will's little stunt) and then places a tiny tack right in the center. The beauty of it is that once Ripley's sat down, he can't get up – and as a bonus, there's a tack in his ass.

Later they find out that Ripley had to be freed with a chainsaw, and they had to knife his pants off. The tack had to be taken out with forceps. Benji can't quite bring himself to feel bad.

* * *

The next brilliant idea is also Ethan's, and is accomplished with the help of the same interns who'd plastered paper all over Ripley's car. Will pays them some more this time, and they set to work.

Rumors tend to travel through the IMF at the speed of light, and soon enough everyone has heard of how Phil Ripley from PR is going insane, rambling about pennies turning up in odd places. To date, he's found them in his printer, in his lunch, in his coffee, at the bottom of his beer, filled up inside his telephone (that had been priceless; he'd almost smacked himself in the face with the receiver), and even inside his socks – with no idea how any of them got there.

Will, Ethan and Benji spend almost two weeks doing this. The last straw is when Will sneaks into Ripley's apartment and presses a penny into his bar of soap. The three of them then hang out in Ripley's fire escape, waiting for the inevitable moment when he breaks.

Sure enough, five minutes into Ripley's shower, there's a resounding scream and a heavy  _ thud _ , like a weight hitting the floor. “Oh dear Lord, he's  _ fainted _ ,” gasps Benji, dissolving into laughter. Will follows a second after, and soon they're clutching each other and laughing hysterically.

Eventually it's Ethan who calls 911. Later on they find out Ripley's signed up for sessions with the IMF's resident therapist.

* * *

Will is assigned the next prank, but this time he decides to leave the interns alone. Instead, he takes a day off work and hotwires Ripley's car, driving it to the nearest garage where he pays off the owner generously.

The car is done within a few hours (the guy used lacquer, which he insists dries fast and looks prettier), and then Will drives it back to the IMF. It's back in its place by the time Ripley gets off work at 5, and Will hides a few yards away as he watches Ripley walk to his car.

He lets out a strangled yell a few seconds later, and Will silently high-fives Benji and Ethan (whom he'd texted to join him some minutes earlier). They're all three of them shaking with laughter, even as Ripley begins screaming curses.

There are penises painted all over his car. Which is pink. His car is pink and has penises painted on it.

Will's rather proud of himself.

* * *

The last prank is a collaboration, one that they spend an entire weekend planning in meticulous detail. They decide to leave the execution for a month later, when Ripley has sufficiently calmed down from what Will has christened The Great Dong Incident.

Ripley walks into his office one fine Monday to find it all in chaos – paper everywhere, furniture upturned and long gashes in the carpet. There is a sticky reddish-brown residue on his chair and in puddles on the floor, and forming long lines across the surface of his desk – as if someone who was bleeding profusely had been dragged over it.

The last straw is a Post-It note smeared with the same red stuff, stuck to his chair. It says, simply,  _ You're next _ .

Ripley faints. Again.

* * *

This time, Jane is having none of their bullshit. She storms into Will's office halfway through a mini-celebration, and all three of them stop and look at her, guilt written clearly on their faces.

“He had a nervous breakdown,” she snaps, hands on her hips. Honestly speaking, it's terrifying. “He's in the fucking hospital right now, _sedated_.” All the fight seems to drain out of her, and she collapses on a chair. “Look, I love you guys, okay? God knows why, but I do. And I know that you did it to get back at him for being an asshole, but don't you think you took it a bit too far?”

Benji doesn't even try to say that it wasn't them. He just looks guiltily away.

“Ethan,” Jane says, and he blinks at her. “I expected more sense from you. Benji and Will are idiots at the best of times, but you? I thought you knew better than this.” Right now Ethan is grappling with deep sense of shame, but later on he will wonder how Jane, who's younger than him, makes him feel like a child caught doing wrong.

“And Will,” she says, turning to the analyst, who unconsciously shuffles nearer to Ethan. “You know better than anyone the consequences of these pranks. Consider yourself lucky that you haven't been caught and that everyone hates Phil enough to not report you guys, or Brassel would have had your asses. And I would have let him, too.”

She gets up and leaves, and a mortified silence is left in her wake.

Ethan is the first to speak. “I didn't wanna be involved in all this,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Will. “You made me.”

Will snorts. “Yeah, like you couldn't have said no.”

“Guys, let's just all of us face it,” Benji says, sounding ashamed of himself. “Jane's right. We got a bit carried away, don't you think?”

“Maybe we should have quit after the Super Glue and the tack,” admits Will, which is his way of expressing apology.

“We should try and make it up to him,” Ethan says. “He's an asshole, yes, but no one deserves this much agony, you know? Except maybe Bender,” he adds. “Bender would definitely deserve this.”

“Yep,” agrees Will. “So – how do we make it up to him?”

* * *

Ripley receives an anonymous apology note two days later, along with a box of fancy Swiss chocolate. The entire debacle having instilled a deep paranoia into him, he throws away the chocolate without even opening the box, and burns the note without reading it. It's a very smart thing to do, considering that in a last-minute fit of evil, Will and Benji laced the chocolates with laxatives.

* * *

It takes Jane a week to forgive them, after numerous apologies from all three of them. She decides to forgive them only on one condition – that they listen to whatever she says for a month.

The four weeks that follow are full of manicure and pedicure trips, and the three men paying for each and every single one of Jane's whims. Jane gains a lot of new clothes and makeup out of the deal, while Benji, Ethan and Will mourn the situation they've put themselves in.

There are no prank wars for at least three months after this – until one of Will's colleagues calls him ugly. This time, Jane joins in.

After that, no one messes with the four of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Free cookies for anyone who caught the _Unusuals_ reference.
> 
> Drop me a comment and let me know what you think, eh?
> 
> Love  
> Remy x


	10. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finally gets his turn to seduce the rich guy - which doesn't go as well as planned. Ethan takes it upon himself to get to the bottom of what's bothering Will.
> 
> Featuring jealous!protective!concerned!Ethan, badass!introvert!Will, resigned-to-dealing-with-idiots!Jane and completely-done-with-your-romantic-shit!Benji.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I rewrote the second half, as I wasn't happy with the first draft. Hope you guys like this one!
> 
> Also yeah there's feelings and fluff in this one~

 

Some days Ethan could happily put his hand on a stack of Bibles and swear up and down that Brassel _enjoys_ fucking with them. Other days, he could happily swear up and down that the universe enjoys fucking with them too.

Case in point – their current mission.

HQ's assigned a potential terrorist threat to them – a British businessman called Ford Whitemoon who they suspect may be dealing with terrorist organizations under the table. Their job is to enter one of his fancy-ass parties as guests, and then one of them will have to extract the information from him.

It's so predictably boring that Ethan could do it in his sleep.

This is where the part about the universe hating them comes in, and throws a spanner in the works. Whitemoon's gay, which means Jane can't do the job. Benji's too terrified of screwing up, and Ethan has another part to play (it involves possible violence and speed, something Ethan's got down to a T)... which leaves Will. Who, it seems, finally has gotten his chance to seduce the rich guy.

Ethan doesn't like this, not one bit. And he absolutely _hates_ deja-vu. It's not a good thing, at least not in his line of work.

"Relax, Ethan," Will tells him for what's probably the millionth time since they've come up with their strategy. "It'll go fine."

"I have absolutely no doubt that it will," Ethan replies. "That's not even what the issue is."

Will rolls his eyes, but with a fond smile. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna dump you for Whitemoon."

Ethan scowls. "I know," he mumbles, and crosses his arms obstinately. "I still don't like this."

They're at their base of operations in London (read: a small apartment where they're crashing until the mission is over), getting ready for the party. Jane's applying makeup in the bathroom, and nearby Benji is ensuring their equipment is functional.

"It's okay, Ethan," Will says, completely straight-faced. "I promise not to run away with Whitemoon."

Ethan's scowl deepens, and Will laughs, sitting down next to Ethan on the couch and pulling on his socks. "Jealous much?" he teases, elbowing Ethan in the ribs.

"I'm not jealous," insists Ethan.

"Sure you're not," says Jane sarcastically as she emerges from the bathroom. She looks a vision in pale pink, and Benji actually ogles for a moment before clearing his throat.

"You look wonderful, Jane."

"Thank you, Benji," she replies with a smile. "Now let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

* * *

"I don't like this," mutters Ethan for the umpteenth time that evening.

"Yes, we _know_ ," answer Jane and Benji in unison. Over the comms, Will can be heard stifling a laugh.

"You're all enjoying this," Ethan says accusingly. Instead of dignifying that with a response, Jane and Benji just roll their eyes.

"Get back to surveillance," Will mutters over the comms. "Let me know if he's nearby."

"On it," replies Ethan, and with a dirty look shot at Jane and Benji, he heads off towards the second level where he'll have a better view of what's going on.

It's not hard spotting Will in the crowd – he is by far the most handsome man there. Or maybe Ethan's just biased.

He follows Will with his eyes, and at the same time keeps a look out for Whitemoon. He spots Jane talking to a handsome stranger who seems intent on asking her out. Benji has vanished, down into the bowels of the mansion so that he can control the tech half of the mission from there.

There's a white-haired man moving rapidly through the crowd, and instantly Ethan's alert. "Donatello, target coming up at your 8 o'clock," he murmurs. "Be careful."

Will doesn't answer, but he does look up at Ethan on the second level and offer a minuscule smile that soothes Ethan a little. Whitemoon has reached Will, and has begun talking already.

"How do you like the party so far?" he asks, voice oily and unctuous, and Ethan resists the urge to throw something at his head.

"I'm enjoying myself," Will answers with a fake smile, sounding just the right mix of shy and playful.

"Leonardo, please," whispers Benji into the comm, "control your boner."

"Fuck off, Michelangelo," snaps Ethan.

"All right, don't get your panties in a twist," Benji replies, giggling a little, the bastard. "Has Donatello bugged him yet?"

Ethan turns his attention back to Will and Whitemoon. The old bastard has his arm around Will's shoulders and is leading him off to God knows where. Will keeps one arm hovering slightly over Whitemoon's back, and with the other he gestures behind his back to Ethan.

"He's bugged him," Ethan confirms to Benji.

"Okay, bug coming online now," Benji murmurs, and suddenly Ethan can hear everything Will and Whitemoon are saying much more clearer than he could through Will's comm.

"Please, Mr. Grayson," Whitemoon is saying, his voice sliding smoothly over Will's alias, "allow me to show you around my humble home."

"Sure, why not?" shrugs Will, carefully nonchalant. "I'd love to see."

"Ugh, I hate him," groans Ethan. "Why can't we just torture the information out of him?"

It's Jane who answers, having disengaged her stranger. "Because, _Leonardo_ ,” she says the name with a certain amount of sarcasm, “we don't have proof of anything yet. We just need to find out if he's really implicit with the terrorists or not. If he isn't and we torture him – well, it doesn't look too good, does it?"

"I don't care," mutters Ethan obstinately. "I don't want him anywhere near Donatello."

" _Donatello,_ ” there's that sarcasm again, “can handle himself," Jane replies. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about yourself."

"Why?" questions Ethan.

"If your blood pressure goes any higher you're going to spontaneously combust," laughs Jane. "Relax, Leonardo. I don't like it any more than you do, but it has to be done."

"Why couldn't I have been the one to do it?" complains Ethan, though he knows the answer why. While Will plays with Whitemoon, Benji looks after tech and Jane quarterbacks, Ethan's role is to sneak into Whitemoon's private quarters and discreetly search for any evidence. He would gladly have switched roles with Will – except that he'll need to put on a mask, and he's closer to Whitemoon's body type than Will is.

So that's that, and now he's stuck having to do some stupid evidence search while Whitemoon schmoozes over Will. Life sucks, he's pretty sure Brassel hates him, and he's definitely sure the universe hates him.

Then again, there's not much he can do, so he decides to suck it up. And complain. He thinks he's earned the right to complain in this case (never let it be said that Ethan Hunt is a dignified, mature, grown man. He is _not_. Especially where it concerns Will).

Jane speaks just as he opens his mouth to complain one more time. "All right, Leonardo, Donatello's leaving the party with Whitemoon. Your cue."

"On it," mutters Ethan, and sets off, tailing Will and Whitemoon at a safe, inconspicuous distance. "Oh, and who thought it would be a good idea to use Ninja Turtles as codenames?"

"Will, aka darling _Donatello_ ," answers Jane, snark evident in her voice even over the comms. "And just like it always is with you two, you agreed the second he opened his mouth without even listening to what he was actually saying."

Ethan opens his mouth to argue, but then nods to himself. "Yeah, not gonna answer that," he finally says.

She snorts. "Of course you're not."

He just huffs.

Some distance ahead he can see Whitemoon settling a splayed palm on the small of Will's back, and it seems to be wanting to travel lower still. He doesn't miss Will's twitch, and to him it's fairly obvious that Will's resisting the urge to turn around and snap every single bone in his hands. Of course, Will's the professional here, and therefore no painful injuries are inflicted.

_Yet_ , Ethan thinks darkly. He's pretty sure he wants to beat Whitemoon up before the night is out.

Suddenly Whitemoon stops, and Ethan barely has time to duck behind a gigantic vase before he turns around and extends an arm, saying smugly to Will, "Welcome, Mr. Grayson. On the left is my study, and on the right are my private quarters. Which would you like to see first?"

It's quite obvious what Whitemoon wants the answer to be, and to Ethan's chagrin Will doesn't disappoint. "I've always wanted to know how a genius lives," he answers with a playful smile.

Whitemoon face breaks out in a gigantic grin and he says, "All right, then." He pulls a heavy-looking ornately-carved wooden door open. "After you, Mr. Grayson."

Ethan watches them disappear with an ugly feeling in his stomach. Almost as if she can read his mind, Jane whispers in his ear, " _Focus_ , Leonardo. You have a mission. Do it."

"On it," mutters Ethan. He waits till the heavy doors have swung shut, and then pulls his mask on and hurries in the opposite direction – Whitemoon's study.

"I'm in," he says five minutes later, having successfully gotten through the three guards outside.

"Good, Eth- Leonardo, you're close," Benji replies at once. "All right, now..." There is typing audible over the line, and then, "Okay, Leonardo, how're you doing?"

"I'm _fine_ ," grouses Ethan. "Just tell me where to go from here."

Benji obliges, and then asks, "Are you all right, by the way? You sound a bit off."

"Other than a very confused boner, I'm fine," Ethan replies, somewhat irritably. If Benji wants information he can _have_ it. Never mind that this isn't even the kind of info he asked for.

"Okay, um, gonna file that under 'stuff I never wanted to know'," mutters Benji with an awkward cough. "Go right from here," he adds.

Ethan takes the right turn and finds himself in Whitemoon's study. A second later he tunes in to Will's bug, and hears Whitemoon talking. So far it's nothing much, just him droning on and on about the furniture and his drapes and whatnot, while Will just murmurs disinterested "hmm's" at intervals. So far, so good, thinks Ethan drily as he begins rummaging carefully through Whitemoon's papers.

"Everything all right?" Jane asks some time later.

"Everything's going good, Raphael," answers Benji. "Donatello's with the target, Leonardo's in position."

Ethan continues looking through Whitemoon's things, but his mind is only half on the job. The other half is listening in carefully on Will and Whitemoon, trying to detect any sign that Will may be in trouble or certain inappropriate things might be happening. He has no doubt that Will can handle himself, but it feels a lot like he just sent Will into the lion's den.

Ten minutes into his task he stands up and mutters, "Looks like our target's clean," with no small amount of relief. "All right guys, let's pack up and move out."

"Confirmed," reply Jane and Benji.

Ethan waits for Will's confirmation, his chest growing heavier with each passing moment. When there's no reply in a minute, he mutters "Shit!" and barrels off in the direction of Whitemoon's private quarters.

"Where's Donatello?" asks Benji over the comms.

"Still with Whitemoon, as far as I can tell," Jane replies. "Stay focused, Leonardo – maybe he just isn't in a position to reply without making Whitemoon smell a rat."

"Or maybe he can't reply at all," counters Ethan. "I'm gonna go check it out, okay?" He knows he's probably just being over-concerned, but he can't help it. Ever since Will's near-death experience he's found himself being overly protective and extra sensitive when it comes to Will.

Evidently Jane understands this and knows there's no point in arguing, for she just sighs and says, "Okay. Be careful."

Ethan resolves to buy her lunch someday, as a _thank you_ for all the shit she puts up with on his behalf. Maybe he'll throw in a free appointment at the spa as well.

He's standing in front of the heavy wooden doors leading to Whitemoon's chambers three minutes later. He can't hear anything, not through the doors or over the comms. With an incredibly bad feeling in his mouth he pushes the doors open and makes his way inside.

He doesn't know what he's expecting (his imagination is currently offering suggestions ranging from "perfectly okay" to "raped and murdered"), but it's a shock all the same – the gigantic, lavish bedroom is in disarray, with furniture upturned, drapes torn and everything misplaced. Whitemoon's lying unconscious on his own bed, where the sheets are ripped beyond salvation.

And in the corner is Will, disheveled, breathing heavily, bracing himself against the wall. Ethan makes a beeline straight for him, and manages to catch him just before he lets go of the wall. "Will, are you okay?" he asks forcefully, adjusting his grip so that he's supporting Will. _“Are you all right?!!”_

Will grabs Ethan's shirt in a tight grip and nods. "I'm fine," he replies, voice taut. "Motherfucker wouldn't listen when I said no, so I had to knock him out. Doesn't look like he can put up a fight though, does he?"

"No, he doesn't," answers Ethan. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine," Will answers. "My bug and comms got damaged though.” He's silent for a few moments and then he adds, “He offered me a drink earlier and I didn't take it, but I think there was something in the air freshener he used when we entered. I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

"Let's get you out of here," decides Ethan, and begins making his way to the door.

"Is he – is he clean?" Will asks, valiantly trying to support his own weight.

"Yeah, he's not in with any terrorist organization," answers Ethan. "Mission's a success, don't worry about it. Are you gonna be fine?"

Will nods. "Yeah. Just need to rest for a bit." He shrugs out from under Ethan's arm, and in response to Ethan's raised eyebrow he says emphatically, "I'm fine, Ethan. Really."

Ethan nods, and takes Will's hand just in case. Will lets him.

(He also grabs the can of air freshener on his way out, and makes a mental note to remind himself to get it tested later.)

* * *

All four of them are silent on the way back to base. Jane and Benji haven't been apprised of the specifics of the circumstances Ethan found Will in, but they know enough to know not to ask, and Will loves them a little extra for it.

They stop for McDonald's on the way, and go through the drive-thru. None of them have the energy to get out of the car unless they absolutely have to. They eat their burgers in the car some time later, due to being stuck in traffic and not wanting their food to be cold by the time they reach base. Afterwards Will falls asleep in the backseat with his head on Ethan's shoulder, and Benji turns on the radio to fill the silence.

* * *

Ethan wakes up in the middle of the night to find the left side of the bed empty, and immediately he's wide awake and fully alert. “Will?” he whispers into the empty room (more to himself than because he's expecting a response), wondering if everything's okay.

Knowing his luck, and the fact that the universe really does hate him a lot, it's probably  _ not _ okay.

He scrambles out of bed and checks the rest of their little apartment. Jane's asleep in her room and Benji's snoring away on the couch. The kitchen and bathroom are both empty. Ethan's heart speeds up a little, and his brain does that annoying thing where, instead of thinking logically, it starts providing him with increasingly horrific scenarios.

“It's all right,” he hears Will call a few moments later, and immediately he heaves a heavy sigh of relief. At this rate, gray hairs are not far away. “I'm over here, Ethan,” Will calls again, and Ethan follows his voice.

He finds him in the same balcony off the living-room, leaning against the rail with his forearms resting on it. He's gazing out at the city lights, silhouetted against the moonlight, and he would look calm and relaxed if it wasn't for the fact that even in the dim light Ethan can make out the way he's biting his lip.

“Hey,” he says softly, standing next to Will. “Are you all right?”

Will nods, but doesn't answer. Instead he says, “It's nice out here. Quiet.”

Ethan's tempted to point out that it's quiet indoors too, but he doesn't verbalize that thought. He understands what kind of quiet Will means. The kind you don't get when you're left awake in bed, dwelling on thoughts of a mission that could so easily have gone wrong. The kind of quiet you don't get when something in your present triggers unpleasant memories of your past.

The kind of quiet you only get when you focus on something else.

“Couldn't sleep?” Ethan finally asks. Small talk seems to be the way to go, to ease Will and perhaps help him be more open about whatever it is that's so clearly bothering him.

“Yeah,” Will answers. “It felt kinda stifling in there. Even though,” his lips quirk in a small smile, “you were hogging the sheets.”

“I don't hog the sheets,” mutters Ethan. “ _You_ hog the sheets.”

“Nope,” Will contradicts, his grin growing wider (and to see it makes Ethan incredibly happy). “You _always_ hog the sheets. You make a fuckin' blanket burrito out of yourself, Ethan.”

“Well, you're welcome to come join me any time,” Ethan adds with a smile instead of retorting. “We'll be the biggest, ugliest burrito ever.”

Will chuckles at that, and some of the lines on his face seem to vanish. “What about you?” he asks after a short, comfortable silence. “Couldn't sleep either?”

“Nah, I just woke up and didn't know why, until I saw you weren't there,” Ethan answers. “I got worried,” he admits a second later.

“Sorry 'bout that,” Will says sheepishly. “Didn't think you'd be up.”

“It's okay, nothing to apologize for,” Ethan replies quickly, and nudges Will with his shoulder. Will retaliates, and a shoving match commences before Ethan finally gives in and lets himself be pushed away, before bouncing back and kissing Will's cheek.

There's another silence, this one slightly less comfortable. Ethan's questions seem to be hanging in the air between them, and finally Will sighs and says, “Okay, you have questions.”

Ethan nods his confirmation.

“And you want answers.”

Ethan nods again. Yes, he wants answers, but above all, he wants to ensure Will's fine.

“Okay. Shoot.”

Ethan starts a little – this was a bit more straightforward than he'd been expecting. “Will – you don't have to answer anything if you don't want to,” he starts, and stops when Will rolls his eyes fondly.

“I know, Ethan. If I didn't want to talk I wouldn't have brought it up. Don't worry about it. So – what do you wanna know?”

“Are you really okay?” Ethan asks at once, looking intently at Will.

Will turns away and resumes looking out over the blinking orange and white city lights before him. “No,” he answers shortly. “Not really.”

Yeah, Ethan's figured as much. “Do you wanna – talk about it?” he asks tentatively, placing his hand over Will's.

“Not particularly, no,” Will answers, “but I'm going to anyway because there's no arguing with you on this, is there?” He sounds exasperated but fond.

Ethan smiles a little. “No, there isn't.”

Will sighs, and lowers his head a little, thinking. Ethan waits, understanding that it's important Will takes his time. He's about to speak up again, tell Will that they can do this later, when Will begins talking. “It's a bit hard to deal with,” he admits, still opting to look at the city lights rather than Ethan. “I mean, it's not even the worst thing that's happened to me. And it's not the first time someone's tried to hit on me in a way I wasn't okay with. It's just... not exactly pleasant, you know? Especially because he tried to drug me. And the idea of losing control like that... well, it sucks,” he finishes rather succintly.

Ethan doesn't say anything, and Will speaks up again after a short pause. “The last time I lost control of something was Croatia,” he says softly, and Ethan's heart gives the dull jolt it always does at the memory of Croatia. “That led to a year of me drinking my way into oblivion, and another year of therapy and AA meetings. The only reason I wasn't kicked out of my job was because I could still do it even when drunk off my ass. And I know it's irrational, but I'm scared of going down that road again. It was hard enough to get back on my feet the first time around and – and I couldn't have done it without you, truth be told.”

Will's eyes are dry and his voice is steady, but the heaviness weighing on him is palpable all the same, and Ethan would gladly do anything,  _ anything _ , to take it away. As it were, there's not much he can do, other than be there for Will and hope that it's enough. It's the first time he's heard of the drinking and the subsequent rehab, but it does explain a few things. Why Will never goes near an alcoholic drink, for one.

“I didn't know,” he finally says, squeezing Will's fingers. “And I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Will replies shortly. “I – I dealt with it and moved on. And I know it's irrational, because nothing happened and we're all fine, but – what happened today scared me.”

There's another silence, and then Ethan asks, “Why didn't you tell me this earlier?”

“I didn't wanna bother you,” mumbles Will, biting his lip again. “You've got better things to worry about than me and my thousand and one issues–”

Ethan's heard enough. “Okay, stop right there,” he interjects forcefully. “Will, you can  _ always _ come to me about  _ anything _ , you hear? It doesn't matter what's going on – if there's something on your mind and you wanna talk about it, you come to me, you hear?”

“But–”

“No buts,” says Ethan firmly. “Will,” he then says, voice a lot softer, “it's okay to ask for help, you know.”

“I know,” Will replies, his shoulders slumping a little. “It's just not – not easy.”

Ethan nods. “I understand,” he says, and he does, he really does. He's been left alone a good many times in his life, and each time it's been a bit harder to bounce back. Which is also one of the reasons he admires Will, because–

“Will, I know you're probably not going to believe me, but – you're one of the bravest people I know, you know that? I've never seen anyone bounce back the way you do. And I'm _not_ just saying it because we're together,” he adds, just in case Will has any doubts that he was. “Will, anyone else would have gone off their rocker if they'd been through what you've been through. The way you deal with things, the way you don't let your bad situations define you – it's amazing, it truly is.”

Will doesn't look convinced.

“And I'm not delusional,” Ethan says with a small smile and a nudge to Will's shoulder. “You're amazing, Will, you really are. Ask anyone, they'll tell you.”

Will's hair, mussed from sleep, is lying on his forehead, and Ethan brushes it back gently with his other hand before resting it on the side of Will's neck and saying, “I know it's not easy, Will. It takes some getting used to, doesn't it? The idea that you don't have to be so alone anymore.”

Will nods, closing his eyes and leaning into Ethan's touch. “Just give me some time, Ethan,” he whispers. “It's still a bit new to me, all of this. Having friends – hell,  _ family _ –” and Ethan's heart soars at the word, “but I'm getting used to it, slowly. Just – please give me some time.”

Ethan takes a step forward and rests his forehead against Will's. “Take all the time you need,” he says. “We're not going anywhere, okay? All three of us are right here where you need us. You don't have to go it alone anymore, Will.”

“That applies to you too, you know,” Will says suddenly, and Ethan's a little taken aback. “I know you've got this whole lone wolf thing going on, but – you don't have to be alone either.”

“I don't have a lone wolf thing,” Ethan begins, nonplussed, but is cut off by Will's amused snort.

“Don't even start with me, Ethan.”

Despite wanting to protest some more – because  _ lone wolf _ , seriously??? – Ethan smiles and gives in. “Okay, Will. Me and you both, yeah?”

“Me and you both,” Will confirms, and that's that.

They stay like that for some time (neither knows or cares how long) – their foreheads touching, eyes closed, Ethan's hand still gripping Will's tightly. It feels good, Ethan thinks, feels great to just be with someone else without anything heavy between them – no secrets, no lies, just them and the moment. He's missed this. He's missed the kind of freedom there is in having someone who knows exactly who he is, and still wants to be with him.

It's been a long time since Julia, to be honest, and he's missed having someone to be close with. Except what he has with Will feels light and free, easier than what he'd had for the majority of his relationship with Julia. He doesn't have to lie to Will about his job, or about leaving for days at a time. He doesn't have to worry about Will being defenseless against an enemy, or Will not being able to hold his own against whoever is stupid enough to fuck with him. He doesn't have to worry about much at all, and that feels fucking amazing.

“I can hear you thinking,” Will whispers. “Stop.”

“Okay,” grins Ethan. “Stopping.”

“Good.”

Will speaks again some time later. “Ethan?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I say something?”

“Go ahead.”

“You have _really bad breath_ right now.”

Ethan opens his eyes and laughs, deliberately exposing Will to his breath some more. “Oh please, your mouth doesn't exactly smell like roses and violets either.”

“Yeah but. Yours is way worse,” grins Will. “And here I thought nothing could counter your morning breath. You've truly outdone yourself, Ethan.”

Because he's got nothing to say to that (it's all true, anyway, a fact that everyone he's ever been with has informed him of, multiple times), Ethan just huffs and pretends to be annoyed. Will's response is to stick his tongue out in the most juvenile manner possible. “Oh, very nice, Will,” teases Ethan. “Very mature.”

“Whatever, poo-breath,” says Will happily. “It's getting a bit cold out here, yeah?” he observes a few moments later.

“Yeah.” Now that Ethan thinks of it, it is. He didn't notice before due to focusing on Will and later on enjoying the moment, but there's definitely a chill in the air. “Wanna head back inside?”

Will nods. “Yeah. And if you hog the sheets I'm gonna kick you off the bed. I mean it,” he adds when Ethan begins laughing. “I will kick you off and not feel even a little bit of regret.”

“I promise not to hog the sheets,” Ethan says, “but only if you promise not to stick your cold feet all over me.”

“Well, they're only cold because you _hog the damn sheets_ –” Will's complain is cut off abruptly when Ethan turns and kisses him, effectively silencing him.

“Dirty tricks, Ethan,” Will mumbles when they break apart for air. “Not fair.”

Ethan just grins smugly. “What can I say, I'm very good at getting what I want.”

Will would have retorted, but at that moment Benji yells hoarsely from the couch, “OI! Go the hell back to bed, you bleedin' idiots! And do your romancing there!”

“Sorry,” whispers Will, trying to stifle his laughter. Benji just flips them the bird before burying his head in his blanket and muttering muffled swear words at them.

Yep, definitely feels good, decides Ethan. Feels good having a family, feels good having Will – feels good not being alone after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word "feels" looks nonsensical to me now. I think there was a word for it? Linguistic overload, or something fancy-shmancy to that effect. You know, when you read/say/hear/write a word so many times that it stops making sense, and just starts looking/hearing like a bunch of mumbo-jumbo.
> 
> Feedback is what I live for.
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x


	11. Casualty of Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having the entire IMF find out via spam mail wasn't exactly on Ethan's list of ways to announce his relationship, but then again you can't always have things your way. And it would be fine, too, if it wasn't for the fact that there is surprising backlash, most of it directed at Will.
> 
> Then there's also the issue of convincing Will to move in with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write :D or well, it would have been, if I'd been writing on my own computer.
> 
> (I may or may not have been grounded. And deprived of my cell phone and laptop. Which may or may not have led to me writing on my mom's computer. Which is old and also missing a couple of keys. And the "g" on the keyboard is wonky. Ah well, you take what you can get.)
> 
> Anyway, this chapter was born of a realization that not everyone in this world is capable of minding their own damn business, and ~~most of the time~~ sometimes that creates problems for whoever's on the receiving end. And _damn_ but people can be nasty. *cough*personal experience*cough*
> 
> Title taken from _The Hell Song_ by Sum 41.
> 
> Soooo I hope you guys like the chapter - on you go :)

As per usual it's Will who wakes first, at 6 AM sharp. He sits up in bed and runs a hand through his messy bedhead, yawning. Ethan's still fast asleep, sprawled all over his side of the bed and snoring into his pillow. Will smiles at the sight, before getting out of bed and heading for the shower.

He exits Ethan's bathroom ten minutes later to the delicious smell of eggs and toast in the air, and grins widely when he enters the kitchen, hair still wet and dripping water onto his undershirt. “You made breakfast,” he points out happily as he takes a seat at the table, and Ethan smiles back at him.

“Good thing _I_ did,” he says, “because the last time you tried, you literally set fire to my house.”

“Don't exaggerate, it wasn't that bad,” Will retorts around a mouthful of toast, waving a hand airily in Ethan's direction.

“Did you not hear me quite clearly, Will?” asks Ethan, raising an eyebrow with a wry smile. “You. Set my house. On _fire_.”

Will swallows, and huffs. “Yeah well, I put it out, didn't I? No harm done.”

“Never come into the kitchen with the intention of cooking, ever again,” is Ethan's deadpan response, even as he brandishes his fork at Will. “Understood?”

“Excuse you, okay, it's still less of a disaster than you doing laundry,” Will replies indignantly. “Never step foot within three feet of the washing machine again, understood?” he then mimics, snickering at Ethan's exasperated expression.

Instead of retorting (and really, what can he say to that anyway? At least he _had_ a kitchen when Will was done; after Ethan's little stunt with the laundry Will had to go shopping for new clothes), Ethan just finishes up his breakfast in silence and then says, “We're taking the Stingray today.”

“Oh, _awesome_ ,” declares Will with a grin, finishing his own breakfast. “Can I drive?”

Ethan narrows his eyes at him. “No,” he says firmly. “You get violent.”

“I do _not_ ,” begins Will crossly, but Ethan cuts him off.

“Yes you do, Will,” he says with a resigned sigh. “You challenge random strangers to a race and then you drive like a bat out of hell and frankly, it's bad for my health.”

“Benji's right, you really don't know how to have fun,” gripes Will as he puts the plates in the sink. “Your idea of a good time is going rock-climbing _without safety equipment_. Which really isn't much fun for the rest of us, you know. I keep worrying you're gonna die.”

“I haven't died yet,” points out Ethan.

“Well, I haven't crashed your car yet,” Will retorts.

“I'm not gonna answer that,” decides Ethan, and leaves to shower.

“Cop-out!” Will yells after him, but he's laughing anyway.

He gets dressed in his work clothes while Ethan's in the shower, and begins the long and arduous task of choosing socks and a tie. He's done with the former when Ethan exits the shower – and now has around half a dozen untied ties dangling around his neck.

Ethan just sighs as he tosses five ties back on the bed, and begins knotting the one he's chosen, a silky light gray one that goes well with Will’s white shirt and black suit. “I could do it myself, you know,” Will points out, watching Ethan's fingers make quick work of his tie.

“You could, yeah, except that if it were up to you you'd show up to work with ties on all your limbs,” Ethan points out. “So yeah, it's probably best I do it for you.”

“True, true,” muses Will. “Then again, it's not like you're any better at picking out clothes.”

Ethan has to agree with that, though he still thinks his fashion sense isn't _that_ bad. Then again, even Benji disapproves, and that means there must really be something wrong with it. It's the reason why he's completely reliant on Will when it comes to his wardrobe. Just like Will's completely reliant on him when it comes to his ties (apparently the only thing Ethan’s got good taste in fashion-wise), and food that's not coffee.

They leave for work at 7 am, and stop at a Starbucks on the way. They reach HQ at a quarter to 8 – plenty of time before work starts for the day. Will likes to have an early start (because he is in fact an incorrigible workaholic), while Ethan just uses the time to doze off on Will's desk until 9, when his classes start.

(The new Secretary, Everett, had put the offer to him a few weeks ago – that he could teach a few classes when he wasn't off on missions. He agreed, because he had nothing better to do, and this way he could be closer to Will while at work. So now he teaches Self-Defense and Creative Strategy (commonly known as Acting 101), as well as testing new recruits in the field exam.)

Ethan turns off the car while Will retrieves his briefcase from the backseat, nodding at a couple of agents making their way across the parking lot. Will's popularity has seen an upward spike recently – more and more people acknowledge his skills as both an analyst and a field agent. Everett's not going easy on him though – he has more and more cases to work and reports to write by the day. Still, he doesn't complain – someone's got to do it, and to be quite honest Will enjoys exercising his mind as much as his body.

“What classes you got today?” he asks Ethan, who's struggling with the strap on his laptop bag.

“Creative Strategy and a field exam,” Ethan answers, grunting with exertion. The strap seems to be stuck in one of the zippers, and is absolutely refusing to come free. It's quite entertaining to watch Ethan fight with it, except that Will's got a couple of reports he wants to start early on, and Ethan needs his morning naptime or else he's extra cranky with his students.

Will gets the strap free in less than three seconds, and smiles smugly at Ethan's awestruck expression. “Years of experience,” he offers by way of explanation. “And common sense,” he adds. “Next time, make sure the strap is clear of the zipper before trying to zip it up.”

“Thanks,” grumbles Ethan, finally hoisting the bag on his shoulder. “Come on, let's go.”

They walk to the building in companionable silence, occasionally exchanging a word or two. It's 7:55 am when Will unlocks his office and settles into his chair, putting his briefcase to the side and booting up his computer. Meanwhile Ethan sits in one of the chairs in front of Will's desk, and immediately plops his head down on his arms on the polished tabletop. Will gave up on trying to stop him from doing that months ago.

He begins on his report and continues typing until 8:45, at which point he saves it, puts his computer on sleep mode and goes to the other side of the desk to wake Ethan. “Come on, time to get to class,” he coaxes, shaking Ethan's shoulder. “Wakey wakey, Ethan.”

Ethan blinks blearily up at him. “Five more minutes?”

“Nope, you'll be late,” Will tells him cheerfully. “And that would give a very bad impression to the children, hmm?”

“They're adults,” mutters Ethan, “and most of them sleep more than I do.” But he gets up anyway, getting to his feet and stretching. “Lunch?” he asks at the door, on his way out.

“I've got a shitton of work to do, but I should be done by 2,” Will answers, checking his watch. “That okay?”

“It's awesome,” yawns Ethan. “Well, see you, then.” He leans in for a kiss.

“See you,” Will replies, and kisses him back. “And for God's sake don't terrorize the kids.”

“Ha, ha,” says Ethan sarcastically even as Will practically pushes him out the door. “ _Don't terrorize the kids_ , he says. One day, Will, I'm gonna bring you to one of my classes, and then you can see who terrorizes who in this equation.”

“ _Leave_ ,” Will says emphatically with a shove. “I've got work to do, you lazy-ass.”

“You wound me, truly you do,” Ethan begins, but Will just raises an eyebrow. “Fine, fine, I'm going,” he grumbles. “See you later, Will.”

“Later, Ethan,” laughs Will, before returning to his work.

Ethan’s smiling to himself as he makes his way to the nearest elevator, already going through various lunch plans in his head. His preoccupation is the main reason he misses seeing Philip Ripley standing near the door to Will’s office, a crafty grin on his face and a camera in his hand.

* * *

Lunch goes well, like it always does. Will waves his cutlery around and talks about anything and everything, while Ethan eats and listens and occasionally makes Will shut up and take a bite before his meal goes cold. They have some ice-cream afterwards, and return to the office after a short walk.

Ethan decides to drop Will off at his floor first, before making his way to the field exam in the afternoon. There are two other people on the elevator when they get on, chatting with each other. They stop rather abruptly when Will and Ethan enter.

“Uh… is there a problem?” inquires Will, tilting his head at an angle and studying the two other agents, who look a little terrified but also like they got caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Nope, no problem,” answers one, a younger guy with dark brown hair and slanted gray eyes. “Sir,” he adds, somewhat disdainfully.

“You sure?” asks Ethan pleasantly, his tone hiding his suspicion.

The second agent, a woman with flaming red hair, nods rather quickly. “Sure, sir,” she says, somewhat more respectfully than her companion.

Will’s clearly unconvinced, going by the expression on his face, but he nods and starts talking to Ethan about something mundane. The two agents relax a little, but still don’t resume their conversation. Ethan puts it out of his mind for the time being. Probably none of his business, anyway.

Except that the same thing happens when they get to Will’s floor. All the other analysts, who’d been going about their merry way, suddenly stop and stare when Will and Ethan step out of the elevator. In their line of work, there’s no such thing as coincidences, and immediately Ethan’s suspicion returns.

“Uh… is there something on my face?” Will whispers sideways to him, watching his colleagues with a frown.

“Your face is fine, Will,” Ethan answers. “I don’t know what their deal is.” Slightly louder, he says, “Is something the problem, people?”

No one answers, but it’s as if Ethan’s question breaks them out of whatever trance they’re in. They resume going about their work, but some of them still throw glances their way when they think they can get away with it. Ethan hears the words “together” and “is that even allowed?” more than once.

“Did we fuck something up?” Will mutters, pushing open the door to his office. Ethan’s got another hour before he’s got to be at his field exam, so he decides to stay a while.

“I doubt it,” Ethan replies, offering Will what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Will’s self-doubt has begun to fade away, though there are still times when it resurfaces. For his part, Ethan does his best to ensure that Will never blames himself for anything that wasn’t his fault. It works – most of the time.

Will smiles back, but he still looks a little uneasy. Ethan resolves to get to the bottom of whatever it is.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

There’s a new email waiting when Will switches his computer on. The subject line clearly indicates that it’s a mass email, probably spam of some kind, but Will clicks on it anyway, and starts reading. In the meanwhile, Ethan finds one of Will’s completed reports and begins reading it out of boredom. He could leave, yes, but that would deprive him of the chance to see Will in his native habitat. Will probably isn’t aware of this, but when he’s focusing on something he tends to frown a little and make this really intense face that Ethan can’t stop staring at. Also, the monitor’s dim light shining on Will’s face illuminates his eyes, and that’s a sight Ethan’s never gonna get tired of.

His contemplation of Will’s face is interrupted by a gasp, and he blinks himself back to reality. Will’s staring at his monitor, mouth open and eyes slightly wide. “What?” Ethan asks. “What is it, Will?”

Will just shakes his head and makes a sound of disgust deep in his throat. Well and properly curious now, Ethan gets up and moves around the desk to Will’s side, resting a hand on his shoulder as he looks into the monitor.

It’s one of those emails that someone deep within the IMF sends out every week or so, containing all the news (mostly just gossip) of everything going on within the organization. There had been a petition to stop it a couple years ago, but the higher ups had decided that since it wasn’t a serious threat to security, it could go on. Personally Ethan didn’t agree, but no one had asked his opinion at the time and he hadn’t offered it.

This week’s main item is… them. Them, as in, Will and Ethan.

There’s an attached picture of earlier that morning, when Ethan had kissed Will goodbye on his way out. Below, in large bolded letters, is the text **_IMF’S GOLDEN BOY AND CHIEF ANALYST – REAL OR NOT?_** It reeks of yellow journalism and fake tabloid sensationalism, and it’s mainly Ethan’s disgust that propels him to read on.

_Ethan Hunt is a bit of a living legend within the IMF, known for his stunts and unconventional methods of work as well as for his specificity when it comes to selecting those he works with. He certainly enjoys his fair share of job-related perks, though – as evidenced in the attached photograph._

_William Brandt is the exact opposite. Where Agent Hunt goes for dramatic stunts and impulsive tactics, Agent Brandt prefers hard logic and facts. He’s certainly good at being cold and calculating, a fact that probably helps in his position as Chief Analyst. He’s also a field agent, and, as quoted by Ethan Hunt, “an integral member of the team.”_

_Just how integral exactly, is the question – Ethan Hunt and Will Brandt have occasionally been spotted together, but there was no reason to assume that they are anything other than platonic friends. In fact, there was no reason to assume that they are anything other than straight, either – until yours truly came across the attached photograph._

_Of course, this begs the question – is Will Brandt only on the team because of his relationship with Ethan Hunt? Will this, in any way, affect how the team functions as a whole? And the most important one – is this just another one of Ethan Hunt’s infamous flings, or something more?_

“This,” Ethan says flatly when he’s finished reading, “is bullshit. Complete and utter _bullshit_.”

“I know,” Will replies, still staring blankly at his screen. “But it’s bullshit that people believe. This spam email thing is crap, yeah, but not many people unsubscribe, you know. It’s entertaining and everybody wants something to gossip about. I certainly never unsubscribed – though that’s because sometimes rumors have an element of truth to them, and this is a good way to keep track of what’s going on around here. Comes in handy, sometimes. Like, this one time there was a mission, and I–”

“Will, you’re rambling,” Ethan says gently, and Will stops, looking at him a little desperately.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I just – well. We’ve been outed, haven’t we? In a manner of speaking.”

Ethan shrugs. “So? So what, Will? Correct me if I’m wrong, but – it’s none of our business what these people choose to gossip about. It’s not like it affects us in any way, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Will agrees, “but all the same – it’s a load of bullshit. _Ethan Hunt’s infamous flings_ – ugh, such _crap_.”

Ethan smiles a little wryly. “Well, I’ve never exactly had much success with relationships, have I?” he points out.

“All the same, it’s _your_ business, not any of theirs,” Will replies heatedly, crossing his arms. “Why can’t they just mind their own beeswax?”

“Because that’s what people do,” Ethan replies, a bit touched by Will’s indignation on his behalf. “They talk. Let them talk, it’ll die down in a bit.”

“I sure hope so,” Will mutters darkly. “Doesn’t mean I like the idea of them thinking all this shit about you.”

“Trust me, I’ve stopped caring about it,” Ethan assures him. “I’m more bothered by how they’ve portrayed you, actually – like you’re only on the team because we’re together.”

Will snorts. “Oh come on – this isn’t even the first time I’ve been accused of seducing you so I could be on the team. I really don’t give a shit. For fuck’s sake, if these people are anything to go by – well, then you’re a compulsive liar, a cheat and an egotistical bastard, and I’m a regular red light district whore.”

The wording startles a laugh out of Ethan. “What – _really_?”

Will just grins back. “Yeah, something like that. For instance, did you know you cheated on Julia with six women, all at the same time?”

Ethan blinks in disbelief. “I did?”

“Yep,” Will tells him. “Never would have pegged you as the kind to have orgies.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Ethan replies, rolling his eyes. “Just so you know, I’ve never cheated on anyone ever, and I have no intentions of doing so.”

“I _know_ , Ethan,” laughs Will. “I’m not saying I believe this pile of rubbish – just that it’s what people think. Oh, and did you know that you and I have gone at it in every room on the sixth floor, in various positions?”

“We have? Wow.” Ethan’s grinning now, beginning to see it as the joke that it is. “Have we done it in Brassel’s office yet?”

“On five separate occasions,” confirms Will, and promptly dissolves in laughter.

It’s contagious, Will’s laughter, and Ethan can’t help but laugh with him. The entire thing is just so _ridiculous_. Will’s got more integrity than most people Ethan knows – and he’s the last person who’s ever going to sleep with someone just for a job promotion. He’s got enough brains and talent to do it without having to resort to seduction.

Not to mention Ethan’s got enough brain cells not to fall for it if anyone does try that on him. Just because his long-term relationships haven’t ever worked out doesn’t mean he’s stupid, or desperate. And whatever these people think about him and Will – well, he’s going to make this work. He’s going to give it everything he has, and fuck what people think. This relationship is a lot more important to him than anything else, and he’s going to give it all he has. And he knows that Will’s going to do the same for him.

“Hey, listen,” he says when he and Will have calmed down some. “Look, you know better than me that this is all rubbish, okay? Don’t let it get to you.”

Will nods, the last of his laughter fading away. “I know, and I won’t,” he says. “You too, okay? We don’t have to listen to what these people think. That being said,” he adds, “I’m gonna ask Benji to get it taken down anyway.”

“You do that,” Ethan replies. “And if anyone comes up to you and asks, tell them to go fuck themselves.”

“I’m not gonna do that, that’s _rude_ ,” protests Will. “I’m gonna _nicely_ ask them to go fornicate with themselves.”

“That works too,” shrugs Ethan, grinning. He checks his watch. “I’ve gotta go for the field exam now, so I’ll see you in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” replies Will. “Don’t go off your rocker over anything, okay?” he adds.

“I won’t,” promises Ethan with a grin. He leans in and kisses Will, and then leaves for the field exam.

Will works in relative peace for around half an hour before his phone rings. Without paying much attention to caller ID, he picks up and mutters, “William Brandt.”

 “So, is it true you’re Ethan Hunt’s bitch?” says whoever’s on the other end, and Will almost drops his phone.

“Who’s this?” he demands. The screen simply says Unknown Number.

“No one,” answers the caller. “Just answer me.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Will snaps, and hangs up. Maybe Ethan’s got a point – there’s no need to be polite to these people if they think they’ve got some right over his personal life.

However, he’s been through worse, so he forgets the caller in a minute or so and gets back to work. That would have been the end of it, except that in the next hour he receives at least seven more calls, all from unknown numbers, all asking variations of the same thing in the same nosy, sometimes downright vulgar, manner. In the end he resorts to switching his cell phone off and emailing Benji.

He relaxes somewhat when Benji replies and says he’s taken down all copies of the email from the servers, but his bad mood remains.

* * *

Ethan’s in a similarly testy mood when Will meets him in the parking lot at 5. There’s a scowl on his face, and his grip on his laptop bag suggests he wouldn’t be averse to wringing some necks right about now. “You too, huh?” Will mutters sympathetically, getting in the car.

Ethan practically throws his bag in the backseat, and stabs the keys into the ignition (with zero regard to the fact that it’s the Stingray, his baby, his pride and joy). “ _Nine_ students,” he seethes. “Nine of those little brats asked me if there was any truth in what that email said. I docked points from all of them and failed three.”

“Can you do that?” questions Will tiredly, resting his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

“Sure I can,” replies Ethan, jamming his foot down on the pedals. “I just said I was failing them based on a complete and total lack of integrity. Perfectly valid.” He’s silent for some moments, during which he gets the car out on the roads, and then he glances at Will and asks, “What about you? You look exhausted.”

“Eight anonymous callers, all asking the same,” offers Will as a reply. “I switched my phone off and asked Benji to identify the callers. Gonna report them all tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Ethan muses. “Let’s see how curious they are when they’ve got the Secretary breathing down their asses. Assholes,” he adds, muttering under his breath. Will’s inclined to agree.

* * *

The next day isn’t much better. Will reports the eight offenders (all of them from various departments in the IMF) and gets to work – only to receive more calls. Frustrated, he turns his phone off within an hour and emails Brassel and Everett, asking them to please contact him via email if there’s anything they need him for, since he won’t be answering his cell phone today. Brassel replies in the affirmative, but Everett, instead of answering, chooses to call Will on his office number.

“William Brandt,” mumbles Will when he picks up the phone, saving his work.

“What the hell do you mean, your phone’s off?” barks Everett at once, not bothering with greetings or other pleasantries. “Switch it on _right now_ , Brandt!”

“I can’t, sir, I keep receiving anonymous phone calls,” Will replies, as respectfully as he can. “They’re all from different numbers and they won’t stop. It’s distracting.”

“I don’t care,” snaps Everett. “Keep your phone on.” There’s a pause, and then, “What are they calling about?”

“They keep asking if I’m sleeping with Ethan Hunt,” replies Will, deciding to go the straightforward route.

“Well, are you?” asks Everett.

Will resists the urge to facepalm. “Does it matter, sir?”

“Of course it damn well matters!” blusters Everett. “I need to know what my staff does in its spare time, who you people frolic with – because it might affect how well you do your jobs!”

“With all due respect, sir,” begins Will, “have you got any complaints regarding the way I do my job?”

There is an uncomfortable silence on the other end, and Will knows it means that Everett hasn’t got any issues with Will’s work, no matter what he may say. “Sir,” he tries, “all I’m asking is that if you need me for anything, please email me. That’s all.”

“Well, it’s inconvenient,” snaps Everett, his previous ire returning. “And if you _are_ sleeping with Ethan Hunt, then you need to stop.”

“What – why?” demands Will. “And how is it any of your business? Sir,” he adds, in an attempt to make his sentence sound a little less accusatory.

“Of course it’s my business!” Everett answers. “You’re a member of my staff, Brandt, and as such I need to make sure you’re not doing anything that reduces your efficiency or distracts you from doing your job.”

“But I _haven’t_ been distracted–” begins Will, then stops when Everett speaks again.

“Enough, Brandt. You stop seeing Hunt outside of work, and the calls will stop on their own. In the meanwhile, keep your cell phone on.” Before Will can reply, he hangs up with a loud obnoxious click.

Will puts the phone back on its cradle and drops his head in his hands. “What the actual fuck,” he mutters angrily, before picking up the phone again and dialing Ethan.

“Hey, Will, everything okay?” Ethan asks as soon as he picks up. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Will sighs. “Just – need to let off some steam. You got some time?”

“Yeah, I’m free,” Ethan tells him. “Want me to come over?”

“No, you stay,” Will replies, rubbing his free hand over his eyes. Everett’s call’s given him a bit of a headache, and he thinks the walk to Ethan’s office might help him relax a little. “I’ll come.”

“Okay,” says Ethan, somewhat dubiously. “Sure you’re okay?”

“I’m all right, Ethan,” Will says, his tone a little gentler. “I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

* * *

It takes him fifteen minutes to recount his conversation with Everett, and by the end Ethan’s face is red and he’s gritting his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Are you serious?” he repeats more than once, looking angrier as the story progresses.

When Will finishes Ethan loudly declares, “I’m talking to Brassel about this.”

“No, don’t,” Will protests almost at once. “It’s okay, Ethan, I’ll deal with it myself. There’s no need to involve Brassel.”

“Everett’s got no right to dictate who you can and can’t see–”

“I know, Ethan, I’ll deal with it. I’ll talk to him. Calm down.”

“But Will, he can’t do that, okay? He can’t interfere in anyone’s personal life, he can’t just tell you to stop seeing me!”

“I _know_ , Ethan, trust me, I’m not exactly happy about it, either.” Will lays a hand on Ethan’s arm, taking care to keep a placating note in his voice. “Look, it’s not like I’m breaking up with you just because Everett said so, okay? Take it easy. We’ll deal with this, but there’s no need to involve Brassel.”

“I’d be inclined to believe you,” Ethan sighs, putting his hand over Will’s, “but that would be easier if they hadn’t gone after Jane and Benji.”

“They – _what_?” That’s new. “They went after Jane and Benji?”

Ethan nods, scowling. “They’ve been calling them non-stop, asking for details about the two of us. Benji turned his phone off, and Jane actually threatened a few people. Didn’t stop them – so now they’ve both got their phones off.”

“How do you know?” questions Will.

“Benji emailed,” Ethan replies. “I was just reading it when you came in. He sent a copy to you too.”

“I didn’t check my email in the last half hour or so,” mutters Will. “Was trying to avoid psychos.”

 “Yeah, I know how you feel,” Ethan answers with a weary smile. “Anyway, Jane and Benji are pretty pissed. They can’t work in peace. Neither can we, truth be told.”

“More students asking?” inquires Will, folding his arms on Ethan’s desk and resting his chin on them.

Ethan nods. “Kicked three of them out of my Creative Strategy class. If detention were a thing here I’d have put them in it.”

“Well, I’ve been getting calls too,” Will sighs. “I didn’t know so many people had my number.”

“This is an organization that’s devoted an entire department to hackers, Will,” Ethan replies drily. “I’m sure it’s not hard to pay someone to dig up people’s cell phone numbers.”

“Yeah,” concedes Will. “Unfortunately. Remember back when integrity used to be a thing?”

“Stone Age, maybe,” answers Ethan. “Anyway – how about we take today off, huh? I’ve got no more classes for the day. Let’s go to the park, get some ice cream, go for a walk. Or – or let’s just stay home and have a movie marathon. What do you think?”

“It sounds amazing, Ethan, but I can’t,” Will answers apologetically, biting his lip. Ethan has all of two seconds to mentally drool before Will goes on, “There’s a mission depending on some of the intel I’ve gathered, so I need to finish a report. Deadline’s in a couple hours. It’s not long, but there’s a chance some new intel might come in. In fact, I shouldn’t have come down here.”

“No, it’s okay, you deserve a break,” Ethan says quickly, before Will can begin beating himself up. “Is it really serious?”

“It’s not a life-or-death matter, if that’s what you’re asking,” replies Will, straightening in his chair. “Just something about safehouses and some information on the target that I frankly think is useless, but Everett wants it passed along.”

Ethan nods. “Okay. Finish that up, and then we’re leaving, okay? Everything else can wait.”

Will looks a bit hesitant when he speaks. “I think I’ll stay till 5. Sorry,” he adds at Ethan’s somewhat crestfallen expression. “I’d love to just loosen up and watch six movies in a row with you, but I also don’t want to give these people the satisfaction of leaving early, you know? It’ll make it look like we’re hiding, and I don’t want that.”

“I understand,” Ethan replies with a smile, and he does. He gets it. There’s no need to give these assholes the pleasure of knowing they’re getting on Will and Ethan’s nerves. “Tell you what – go home and pack a bag. Stay over this weekend.”

“It’s just Wednesday,” Will points out, but he already looks cheered up at the prospect. “Hey – why don’t _you_ come over? I stay over a lot at your place anyway, I might as well move in.”

“Why don’t you?” asks Ethan before he can stop himself. He reddens a little, but decides to go on anyway. If he’s said as much he might as well go on and say the entire thing. “Seriously, Will – move in with me. If you want to. It’ll certainly save a shitload on rent.” _And I can keep you around all the time_ , he doesn’t say.

Will’s smiling in earnest now. “I’d love it, Ethan, really I would. Except.” He grins at Ethan’s disappointed expression. “Your neighbors are noisy and irritating in general. And you know me, I like my peace and quiet.”

“Your landlord hasn’t put on any clothes in a _year_ ,” Ethan reminds him. “You can’t talk to me about peace and quiet, okay, he roams the hallways singing Elvis songs at the peak of his lungs.”

“You do make a good case,” Will concedes, pretending to think. “I’ll think about it,” he finally says. “I know that isn’t much to go on with, but.” He stops, and looks apologetic. “I’m sorry, Ethan, it’s just – I’d move in with you today if it were up to me. I just don’t want to give these people more things to talk about. I’m sorry,” he finishes, and he really is.

Ethan stands and makes his way around the desk, coming to a stop near Will’s chair. “I know,” he says softly. “Don’t apologize, Will. I get it. I do.” He kisses the top of Will’s head. “We’re not gonna do anything you don’t want to, okay? I can wait. It’s all right.”

Will regards this for a moment, and then leans against Ethan, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Don’t mention it.” His hatred for the perpetrators increases some more, though.

* * *

Will gets home to find out that his door is ajar. He darts inside the apartment and silently retrieves his gun from the dresser in the hallway, making his way deeper in and making sure it’s empty. Whoever broke in is long gone, though, and Will puts the gun down before embarking on a second search.

Nothing seems to have been stolen, or even misplaced. It wasn’t a random search, or a burglary. Will puzzles for a while, but it’s made clear the minute he takes a better look at his living-room.

In large red letters, someone’s sprayed the word BITCH on his wall. The paint’s dripped down on his furniture, adding garish stains on his sofas that look disturbingly like blood.

He feels oddly numb, can’t find it within himself to feel angry or even shocked. If they can dig up his cell phone number, his home address shouldn’t be a problem. With a tired sigh he sinks down on his ruined sofa and boots up his laptop. It takes him less than a minute to hack into the building’s security, and he accesses the tapes for the CCTV camera in the hallway just outside his door.

It’s no use, though – the culprit’s evidently smart, and has put in a loop for the ten minutes it took to defile Will’s apartment. With another sigh, Will shuts down his computer and gets off the sofa, moving slowly, almost listlessly, to his room. He grabs a rucksack and stuffs clothes into it without really paying attention to what he’s doing, and grabs his toiletries from the bathroom. Finally, he puts in a spare pair of shoes in a second bag, and exits his bedroom only to find Ethan standing in his living-room, mouthing the word “bitch” with disbelief on his face.

Well, shit. In his daze, Will had completely forgotten that he’d asked Ethan to come over instead, and so he hadn’t called him like he should have. Now Ethan’s standing in his living-room staring at his wall, looking like he’s considering murder right now.

“I tried to find out who did it,” Will says by way of greeting, going to stand by Ethan’s side. “Whoever it was put in a loop in the security feed.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ethan says with a sigh, breaking out of his reverie. He takes Will’s hand. “I guess you’re staying over now anyway, huh?”

Will nods. “Looks that way.”

“You haven’t got anything valuable here, have you?” asks Ethan, looking around as if expecting to see piles of money somewhere.

“Nope, got my money in the bank and there’s nothing else of any value here,” Will answers. “Let’s just go, okay?”

* * *

Jane and Benji drop in on them later on in the evening, and they all settle at the kitchen table with some snacks and a giant bottle of Coke. Ethan cooks dinner while Will tells them about the events of the day. Their reaction is predictable – shock, anger and a vicious vow of revenge.

“There’s no point, though,” Will sighs. “We don’t know who did it. In any case, I just wanna forget it, okay? I’ll paint over it, get some new furniture, and that will be that.”

“If you say so,” says Jane, though she looks unconvinced. “I’m sorry, you know. That you’re getting the worst of it.”

“Ethan’s got it just as bad, and so do you two,” contradicts Will. “My place was the closest to HQ, and easiest to break into. That’s all.”

“Oh yeah, that reminds me,” Benji pipes up. “I’m gonna have to get my car repainted.”

“Why?” inquires Jane, her hand pausing in the act of lifting her glass to her mouth.

“Someone spray-painted it,” Benji answers sadly. “Some words that I’m not gonna repeat, but, uh, they were along the lines of what they’ve been calling Will and Ethan. I guess whoever it was, was pissed because I wouldn’t give them any juicy details.”

“This is getting out of hand,” Jane declares. “We’ve got to talk to Brassel.”

“What’s the point?” asks Will, sounding worn out. “He can’t stop _every single person in the IMF ever_.”

“Sure he can, he’s _Brassel_ ,” Benji contradicts him. “That man can be terrifying.”

“Your undying faith in our Director inspires me, Benjamin, it really does,” Will says, sarcasm dripping from his words. “He’s only just human, though. Short of firing half the organization, there’s not much he can do.”

“Well, let’s just go talk to him anyway,” proposes Ethan. “There’s gotta be _something_.”

“Okay, we’ll go tomorrow,” says Will, giving in. “I just hope it works.”

“If it doesn’t, we can always crack a few skulls,” replies Ethan with a frankly scary grin.

“I approve,” says Jane cheerfully, and cracks her knuckles for extra effect.

“What? No,” sputters Benji. “There will be _no_ cracking of – of skulls! What is _wrong_ with you two?”

Jane and Ethan just raise their eyebrows at him, while Will laughs into his bowl of chips.

“Seriously!” exclaims Benji, flailing a little. “I’m pretty sure we can do this without, you know, _violence_! We don’t have to sink down to their level, you know!”

“He’s got a point,” muses Will. “Maybe we should just prank them. Instead of cracking their skulls.”

“Come on, Will,” snorts Jane. “Even you and Benji aren’t good enough to prank half the IMF.”

“Don’t challenge them,” Ethan says sternly, brandishing a spatula at her. “You’re only gonna encourage them.” He turns to Benji and Will, who are already wearing conspiratorial grins. “There will be no pranking, okay? And no skull-cracking,” he adds, sounding a little disappointed.

 “Agreed,” says Will, sounding just as disappointed. “Wet blanket,” he accuses a second later.

Ethan actually rolls his eyes. “Don’t even start with me, William,” he warns, turning back to his cooking. “You and Benji would be in jail by now if it weren’t for me and Jane. Or maybe disavowed. Probably both.”

“Yeah, he’s got a point there,” mutters Benji grudgingly.

* * *

Turns out they don’t have to go talk to Brassel; he summons all four of them into his office the next morning. “All right,” he begins, instead of pleasantries, and it feels a lot like they’re four kids facing the principal. “What’s going on?”

Will’s got a fairly good idea what Brassel’s talking about, but he says anyway, “Can you clarify, sir?”

Brassel looks unimpressed. “I think you know what I’m talking about, Agent Brandt,” he says testily. “Why is half of this organization more concerned with Ethan Hunt’s sex life than their jobs?”

“I think you’ll have to ask them that, sir,” Ethan mutters under his breath, and Will elbows him in the ribs.

Brassel’s scowl deepens. “I don’t care what you two have been getting up to in your spare time,” he says, pointing a pencil at Will and Ethan. “Frankly, it’s none of my business. What does concern me is the fact that literally _everyone_ I’ve seen this morning is much more interested in who’s screwing who to actually do their jobs. And I want it to stop.”

“Trust me, so do we,” replies Jane, her tone respectfully neutral. “Sir, I don’t know if you know this, but – all four of us have been getting so many anonymous calls we’ve had to switch our phones off. Ethan’s students won’t stop questioning him. Someone broke into Will’s house and graffitied his walls, and someone did the same to Benji’s car. It’s getting a bit out of hand, truth be told.”

“Why didn’t I hear of all this earlier?” demands Brassel, scowling so much his face looks disfigured.

 “We were actually going to come talk to you today,” Benji tells him. “And, uh, I think Will mentioned the calls to you?”

“I talked to the Secretary about this, but he didn’t listen,” Will adds. “In fact, he, uh, he said that Ethan and I should stop seeing each other except for on work-related business, and that would stop the talking.”

“He’s a homophobic idiot, I’ll deal with him later,” Brassel says, somewhat impatiently, like he’s used to having to deal with Everett’s messes. “Did they actually break into your house?” he asks Will a second later.

“Yes,” Will answers, and Ethan hands Brassel his cell phone.

“I took a picture, just in case,” he explains in reply to Will’s questioning look.

Brassel looks down at the cell phone in his hand, and then up at Will. “This is a serious matter,” he states. “A criminal offense, actually. Any idea who may have done this?”

Will shakes his head. “Whoever it was covered their tracks pretty well.”

“And the email address they’re using can’t be traced,” adds Benji. “They sure know what they’re doing.”

Brassel mulls this over for a minute or so. “Okay, well, there’s two ways to go about this,” he then says, handing Ethan his phone and leaning back in his chair, observing the four of them. “You can either wait for it to die down, or you could find out who did this and bring them to me.”

“Sir, the entire problem is that we _don’t_ know who it was who started it, or trashed Will’s house, or Benji’s car,” Ethan says, somewhat heatedly. “And as for waiting for it to die down – sir, they got to Will’s _home_. Who’s to say they won’t do something more drastic in the meanwhile?”

Brassel considers this. “Where are you currently staying?” he asks Will after a few minutes.

“Uh – with Ethan,” answers Will, a little hesitantly.

Brassel nods. “All right, you stay there,” he says. “And you might wanna consider moving.”

Will looks a little startled, but then nods. “Okay,” is all he says.

“And I’m going to think of a way to deal with everyone else,” Brassel says. “In the meanwhile, I want the four of you to focus on your jobs, and _only_ on your jobs, do you understand? And if anyone comes to you about this, you tell me. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” says Benji. “Absolutely, sir. You’ve got it.”

Brassel raises an eyebrow in evident amusement, and then says, “All right, you’re free to go. Wait, Brandt,” he adds. “Stay a minute.”

Ethan hovers by the door, watching Will sit back down. “Is everything all right, sir?”

“Everything’s okay, Agent Hunt,” Brassel tells him. “Just got to talk about a couple of intel things. You can stay and do the concerned boyfriend thing if you want, but it’ll be boring and frankly, it’s nothing to do with you.”

Ethan flushes, and nods to Brassel, obviously embarrassed. Then he turns to Will in a valiant effort to appear nonchalant. “Hey, I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” he says.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll come meet you,” Will answers, laughing a little at Ethan’s face. Brassel clears his throat impatiently, obviously having more important things to deal with than his agents’ private lives.

“Right, sir, just leaving,” mutters Ethan hastily, closing the door behind him. Will offers Brassel an embarrassed grin.

* * *

Somewhere around noon Will’s desk phone rings, and he picks up in his usual manner. “William Brandt.”

“Hey, it’s Benji, check your email,” comes the somewhat excited reply.

“Is it something about me and Ethan again?” asks Will apprehensively.

“Yes, but not in the way you think,” Benji tells him. “Just – just read it, okay?”

“Okay, Benji, will do.” He hangs up, finishes the report he was typing, and then logs into the server.

There’s a new email waiting for him, from Theodore Brassel. The subject lines simply states “Important Announcement”. He clicks on it, and his mouth falls open as he begins reading.

_It has come to my attention that most of you have been prying into William Brandt and Ethan Hunt’s private lives, and bothering their teammates (Jane Carter and Benjamin Dunn) due to it. I have also learned of the break-in at Agent Brandt’s place, and the damage done to Agent Dunn’s car. I would like all of you to know that this kind of behavior will not be condoned under any condition. What Agents Brandt and Hunt do in their time off is no one’s business._

_That being said, if I find out that anyone’s been bothering them, the consequences for that person will be as follows:_

  * _punishment;_
  * _extra working hours with no pay;_
  * _salary cut;_
  * _demotion;_
  * _a permanent mark in your record;_
  * _if it is a criminal offense (LIKE BREAKING INTO SOMEONE’S HOUSE), the person will be disavowed._



_If there are any doubts relating to any of the above, please feel free to see me in my office._

“This is brilliant,” whispers Will to himself as he finishes reading. “Absolutely _brilliant_.”

He rereads Brassel’s passive-aggressive mass email, and then dials Ethan. “Check your email ASAP,” he says the moment Ethan picks up. “It’s awesome.”

“Okay, Will,” says Ethan, laughing a little. “Are we still on for lunch?”

“Of course,” answers Will a little impatiently. “I’ll get back to work now, okay? You check your email.”

“Sure, Will. Bye.”

* * *

Ethan barrels into Will’s office ten minutes later, and before Will can say anything he grabs him and kisses him full-on, laughing as he does so. “Remind me to send Brassel a fruit basket,” he says happily when they break apart.

“You’re sure giving out a lot of fruit baskets, aren’t you?” teases Will, but he’s laughing too.

“Just Connor and Brassel,” Ethan points out. “Though I probably owe Luther one as well, for dealing with me all these years. I think I’ll wait till he gets back from his Tahiti mission.”

“I think he deserves a freaking private island, for putting up with you,” opines Will with a grin.

“That’s not fair,” complains Ethan. “I’m not _that_ difficult.”

“Oh please,” Will says, rolling his eyes. “Have you _met_ yourself? Even the most patient person has homicidal tendencies around you.”

Ethan actually looks offended, and Will laughs. “Just telling it like it is, Ethan.”

“I’m wounded, Will,” Ethan replies, clutching his heart dramatically. “You hurt my feelings.”

“Your feelings are fine,” Will says, and then pauses as something occurs to him. “I think we can turn on our phones now,” he says after a moment, and proceeds to do just that. Thankfully, there are no missed calls or messages from any unknown numbers, and Will breathes an audible sigh of relief.

“Glad to know that’s done with,” mutters Ethan, and wraps his arms around Will. He decides to try again, now that the entire fiasco is over. “So – what Brassel said. About moving.”

Before Will can reply, his phone rings again. He unwraps himself from Ethan’s arms and picks up; it’s Jane. “You and Ethan owe us,” she says with ill-disguised relief. “So we’re coming over tonight for dinner. And we’re gonna watch that movie Benji was harping on about – what was it?”

“ _Pacific Rim_ ,” answers Will with a chuckle. “And yeah, okay. See you tonight?”

“See you tonight,” she confirms, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“Who was that?” asks Ethan when Will hangs up.

“Jane,” he tells him. “We’re gonna watch _Pacific Rim_ tonight, and you’re cooking.”

“Of course I’m cooking,” Ethan replies with a roll of his eyes. “None of you can make anything edible.”

“That’s not true, Jane’s pretty good at cooking things that come in tins,” protests Will.

“That doesn’t count, Will,” Ethan says. “I mean _real_ food.”

“Excuse you, microwave dinners _are_ real food,” Will begins, but stops when Ethan shakes his head, laughing.

“No?” he asks.

“No, Will,” Ethan confirms, still laughing. “How have you survived this far?”

“Well, I find coffee and the occasional sandwich a quite nourishing diet,” Will informs him. “And sometimes pizza.”

Ethan laughs some more, and then abruptly grows serious. “So, Will,” he tries again. “What Brassel said. About you having to move.”

“Yeah, I’ve been giving it some thought,” responds Will. “And I was thinking… maybe Benji and I could prank your neighbors, get them to shut up a bit?”

Ethan takes a second to compute this, and then his face breaks into the widest smile Will’s seen. “Yes, yes, _yes_!” he exclaims, kissing Will again. “Prank them all you want–” he pauses. “Are you serious, though? About moving in with me?” he asks.

Will rolls his eyes and pokes him in the arm. “Of course, dumbass. Wouldn’t have agreed otherwise, would I?”

“No, I suppose not,” concedes Ethan, and then decides to convey his delight in a way that involves less talking and more kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm probably gonna do something nice and light-hearted for next chapter. Preferably where no one's trying to kill or maim them, or scar them for life. Thoughts?
> 
> Oh, and I'd love to know what you guys thought of this chapter, too :)
> 
> Have a great day, lovelies <3


	12. In Which Moving is a Pain in the Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan and Will move - and are immediately faced with the issue of balancing work life (aka _why the fuck are we being assigned so many missions don't they have other agents what the fuck_ ) along with settling in at their new home (aka _you said we'd assemble the bedrooms today I haven't slept in a proper bed for ages what the fuck_ ).
> 
> Also, Ethan's neighbors are assholes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY this wasn't supposed to be so damn late. I got writer's block and then suddenly my life also got super-busy (I'm still surprised tbh) and so this took a lot more time than anticipated. A thousand apologies from me to you.
> 
> It's another long chapter, around ~6K words or so, which I hope makes up for the time it took to put this up.
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER:** I have never done pot in my life. Or any kinda drugs. I don't know how long it takes to get down from a high, or how much secondhand smoke there needs to be for someone else to get high. Whatever's in this fic is the result of an intense amount of Googling and some educated guesswork, but it may still be incorrect. Just thought I'd point that out.
> 
> Also, don't do drugs, kids. Drugs are bad for you.

It takes Will two days to move in and settle down at Ethan’s. It takes him six days to declare, one fine evening, “I swear, Ethan, I’m either gonna kill your neighbors, or myself.”

Ethan puts his iPad aside and looks up at Will, who’s standing in front of him with his hands on his hips. “What’s wrong?” he asks, though he knows perfectly well what’s wrong.

“Your neighbors,” Will answers vehemently, “ _won’t shut up_. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep since I moved in. I can’t even watch TV in peace. Or talk to you. Or do anything. _That’s_ what’s wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” says Ethan with a sigh. “I’ve tried talking to them; they just don’t listen.”

“Yeah I know, it’s not your fault,” replies Will with a sigh of his own, and sits down on the sofa next to Ethan. “It’s just that I like my peace and quiet, you know? I can’t work otherwise, especially nowadays when Everett’s just piling it up on me. And these people just – refuse – to – shut – _up_.”

“I know, I know,” Ethan says, and puts his arm around Will’s shoulders in an attempt to placate him. “Wanna watch something at full volume and annoy them right back?”

“What’s that gonna achieve?”

“Well… maybe they’ll get a taste of their own medicine.” When Will doesn’t look convinced, Ethan adds, “Come on. It might work, you know.”

Will still doesn’t look happy, but he nods anyway. “Okay. But I get to choose the movie.”

* * *

To Ethan’s left lives a couple that just recently got married. Their names are Alicia and Mark Boone – he’s a software engineer and she teaches kindergarten (he knows this because he may or may not have run a background check when he moved in). The problem is that they like to have a lot of sex. And Alicia is a screamer. The walls are really thin.

Which means that Will and Ethan can hear everything that’s going on.

Ethan and Will are both firmly of the opinion that some things should stay between couples, and their sex life is one of them. The first time Alicia and Mark did the do after he moved in, Will just looked annoyed and put on his headphones. The second time, he turned the TV on high. The third time (which happened in the middle of the night and actually woke him up), he buried his head under the pillow. After the fourth time he went and talked to them, and they denied every word of it. After that he just kinda gave up (because nothing worked).

To Ethan’s right live three college boys named Steven Jacobson, Kyle Rivers and Matty McAvoy – and all three are potheads. The file Ethan’s compiled on them says they go to Georgetown University. At least one of the three is always at home, blasting loud hippie music and smoking copious amounts of marijuana. Ethan would have no problem with the pot – their life, their choices, who’s he to interfere, etc. – but they do so much of it that the smoke escapes into the hallways and sometimes gets all over the floor. It’s especially irritating because neither he nor Will can work at home – too much noise coupled with getting high off secondhand smoke isn’t good for productivity.

They, too, refuse to stop. Or rather, they always promise they will but they never do.

It was fine initially – for the first couple of days after Will moved in, both neighbors weren’t that bad. Ethan had let them know that someone else would be living there too, and they’d been surprisingly considerate. The Boones came over to visit and brought a (badly cooked) pot roast, and the college students dropped in to say hi too (and offered Will some of their weed). The Boones invited them to dinner that night too, and it wasn’t that bad (other than the charred lumps that Alicia called meat). They were nice, and got along just fine with Will.

And then that night they decided to do the horizontal polka. Ethan woke up to find Will sitting up in bed, eyes rimmed with red and hair tousled. “What is this?” he asked Ethan, voice cracking.

“Um… I think the Boones are having some fun times,” Ethan replied lamely, offering Will a tentative smile.

Instead of dignifying that with an answer, Will just slid down the bed and buried his head under his pillow.

He woke up the next morning to find Will sprawled on the sofa, giggling, _fucking giggling_ , at something on TV. His eyes were still red, but it was a different kind. “Will?” Ethan asked suspiciously. “What’s up?”

“It’s just so _funny_ ,” Will told Ethan, in between chuckles. “Like, it’s fuckin’ _hilarious_ , ya know? And I don’t even understand why it’s funny, it just is.”

“What’s funny?” Ethan asked cautiously, almost afraid to know.

“I don’t _know_!” Will replied, honest-to-God tears in his eyes from laughter. “That’s the funny part!”

Ethan approached the sofa slowly, and then sat down next to Will. He almost asked what he saw on TV that had him in stitches, but then he saw the TV was switched off.

Will was literally just sitting there, jabbing buttons on the remote and laughing at nothing.

“Will,” Ethan said, realization hitting him in the face, “are you _high_?”

“No, _you’re_ high,” chortled Will. “You’re like a – like some kind of airplane.”

“What – no wait, I don’t want to know,” Ethan decided. He tugged the remote out of Will’s hand. “You’re lucky it’s a weekend. I don’t want to know what Everett would do if you showed up to work like this.”

“Who gives a fuck?” asked Will happily. “Everett’s a – a – a _banana_. Like, you realize he looks so yellow all the time? Jaundice, maybe. And his hair’s funny. I think he’d make a really good banana. Except without the potassium and stuff. He’s probably not healthy to eat, you know. You shouldn’t eat Everett. ‘Cause it’s not healthy.”

Ethan sniffed the air. Yep, marijuana. Those fucking kids. He didn’t even want to consider how much weed they must have smoked, if it was enough to cross over to their apartment and get Will high.

He got up from the sofa and opened the windows, letting some fresh air in, and switched on the air-conditioning to get some air moving inside the apartment. Will was still slumped on the sofa, laughing helplessly. It was sort of endearing, but also a bit annoying because they’d made plans for the day. They were supposed to arrange Will’s stuff around the house and then go out for lunch.

He went into the kitchen and made some extra-strong coffee, and handed Will the mug. “Drink up,” he ordered. “All of it, _now_.” Will just grinned goofily at him and accepted the coffee, miraculously without sloshing it all over himself.

Ethan knew a few things one could do to get down from a high faster than natural – sit in ventilated surroundings, preferably with lots of fresh air; drink some strong coffee; and exercise. He’d already employed two of them, and was about to suggest exercise to Will, but then thought better of it. Will would probably end up injuring himself.

Instead he settled for hovering over Will until he’d drained his mug, and then forcing some breakfast into him. Will was already beginning to come down from the high – he was less giggly, though he did keep making rambling statements about random things.

It took Ethan an hour and a half to get Will sober, by the end of which he was irritable and grouchy because next door the smoking had started again, going by the smell. Since he didn’t want either of them getting high (again, in Will’s case), he just suggested they go for lunch earlier than usual.

It was an interesting day out, to say the least.

* * *

Work is pretty much normal the next day. Kind of slow, to be honest, so instead Ethan settles for browsing real estate sites and the like. He’s tried talking to his neighbors many times this week (and even more times before Will moved in), but nobody’s willing to budge. Will’s more and more irritable each day – there have been three occasions of not being able to sleep due to the noise from next door, and another instance of the two of them getting high off secondhand smoke. The entire floor’s perpetually somewhat high thanks to the stoners. Ethan doesn’t even want to know what it’s like inside the boys’ apartment.

He finds a few places that look promising, all of them within twenty minutes of the HQ building and in relatively safe neighborhoods. He browses through features and prices etc. and bookmarks the ones with the most potential.

He brings up the topic on the way home from HQ. “So,” he says nonchalantly when the car stops at a red light, “I’ve been looking at some places.”

Will glances at him sideways before going back to tapping restlessly on his iPad. “What kinda places?” he asks, sounding distracted.

“Places to live,” clarifies Ethan. “So that we can move out and go somewhere else.”

“Awesome,” is Will’s answer. “You’re moving everything, I’m done with hauling cartons of stuff everywhere.”

Ethan waits a few seconds for Will to continue, and then exclaims, “Wait, that’s it?”

“What’s it?” asks Will absently, tapping furiously at the screen.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” asks Ethan incredulously. “After complaining about my neighbors like, every five minutes?”

“I didn’t complain every five minutes,” mumbles Will, before cursing loudly. “Dammit!”

“What’s up?” asks Ethan. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the light turn green and presses his foot down on the accelerator. The car zooms forward.

“I’m playing this game, and I’m stuck on this level, and _I just can’t win_ ,” answers Will through gritted teeth. “It’s total bullshit.”

“Take a break,” advises Ethan. “And stop downloading games that Benji recommends, they’re just an additional source of stress.”

“Actually no,” begins Will, but then he sees Ethan’s irritable expression and promptly puts the iPad aside. “Sorry. You were saying?”

Ethan just rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “I’ve found a couple places that look good,” he tells Will. “Good neighborhoods, affordable, not that far from HQ… all that stuff. I’ll show you when we get home.”

“But what about neighbors?” asks Will. “I mean, our current apartment fits all the above too, the only problem is the neighbors.”

“Well, one of the places is in a building that’s just been finished, so we’ll probably be one of the first people there. And the others, well, we can always visit and find out, right?”

Will nods. “Yeah, okay. So, when were you thinking we could go see them?”

“I’ll show them to you when we get home,” Ethan replies, stopping at another red light. “And if you want, we could go over and check them out this weekend?”

“Sounds good,” says Will, and picks up the iPad again. “Oh, and Ethan?” he says a moment later.

“Yeah?”

Will smiles, leans over and kisses him before going back to his game.

Ethan grins, knowing and not caring that he probably looks really goofy right now. “What was that for?”

“Oh, you know. Reasons,” answers Will vaguely, smiling down at the iPad.

* * *

They watch some TV after dinner, and Ethan grabs his laptop as they head off to bed. He pulls up the sites he found earlier while Will brushes his teeth ( _thanks, Google Chrome_ , he thinks as he goes into the synchronized bookmarks folder, and makes a mental note to thank Benji as well for teaching him that), and the pages are loaded and ready by the time Will gets into bed and immediately pulls more than half the covers over himself.

“And you say _I_ hog,” complains Ethan, tugging them back with one hand and stopping the laptop from sliding off the bed with the other.

Will pulls the covers back. “You _do_ ,” he insists. “Think of this as a precautionary measure.”

“Against what?” Ethan tugs futilely at the covers. Will’s gripping them with both hands, and has wrapped his legs around his edge of the comforter.

“Against you and your hogging.”

“ _You’re_ the one hogging right now.”

“Only because you complain about my cold feet. So you see, I’m just warming my feet. So you’ll be comfortable. You’re lucky you have me, you know, I’m really considerate.” Will has the gall to say all this with a straight face.

Ethan scoffs in disbelief. “Are you _joking_?” he demands, before putting his laptop aside and wrestling the covers out of Will’s grasp. A five-minute wrestling match ensues, involving a lot of cursing and yelling, before Ethan finally manages to acquire his share of the covers.

“You’re horrible,” Will sniffs, crossing his arms.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” answers Ethan, grinning smugly. Will glares at him for all of five seconds before sighing in resignation and snuggling into his side.

“Okay, places to live,” he says, as Ethan wraps an arm around him and uses his other hand to grab his laptop.

Ethan shows him the first apartment, a nice roomy two-bedroom with two bathrooms, a huge living-room and a well-equipped kitchen. “It’s pretty affordable,” he remarks as he scrolls through pictures of the apartment. “I particularly like the paint.” The walls are all a creamy beige color.

Will looks closely at all of the images, and finally says, “Yeah, it looks good. Where is it?”

Ethan tells him. “A fifteen-minute drive from HQ, not counting traffic. Not a bad neighborhood either.”

“Okay, let’s check it out this weekend,” decides Will. “Next?”

The second apartment is a little bit smaller, but is already furnished and has a larger balcony. The view is quite good too. “I like this one,” Will says pensively. “Thoughts?”

Ethan hums thoughtfully. “It doesn’t have an extra bedroom,” he points out. “And only one bathroom.”

“We don’t really need an extra bedroom and bathroom,” Will says. “If anyone stays over we could always give them our room and sleep on the couch.”

Ethan scrolls to the picture of the living-room and zooms into the picture of the sofa. “I don’t know, it looks kinda small, Will.”

“We’ll fit, if you don’t sprawl,” says Will. “We could always try it out when we go see the place.”

“Yeah, sure,” snorts Ethan. “I’m sure the landlord won’t mind two grown men trying to squeeze onto a small sofa.”

The third (and last) place is a penthouse apartment. It’s already furnished, and _very_ spacious. The living-room is huge, and there are three bedrooms with attached bathrooms and balconies. The kitchen is humongous. “This looks good,” Ethan comments.

Will eyes the price suspiciously. “Yes, but – too cheap, don’t you think?”

“Will, honey, that is not a problem. That is the exact opposite of a problem.”

“No, listen – a place like this doesn’t come this cheap,” argues Will. “It’s probably haunted or something.”

“ _Haunted?”_

“Yeah. Don’t you watch movies, Ethan? If we move in, some seriously fucked-up shit will happen. We will die _horribly_. I guarantee it.”

Ethan looks amused. “You guarantee it.”

Will nods, looking very serious. “I don’t want to die horribly, you know.”

“We could die horribly on a mission anyway,” Ethan points out.

“Well _yeah_ but see, on a mission we already know there’s a good chance we could die. I don’t wanna sit down to watch a movie, and end up choking on popcorn or anything. Or – or you could be cooking, and then you might drop an egg and slip on it and fall on a knife and bleed to death.” He gives Ethan the puppy eyes. “I don’t want you to die, Ethan.”

“Okay,” laughs Ethan. “We’ll just check it out, and we’ll bring Benji along, okay? He’ll know if it’s haunted. He watches that show, doesn’t he? The one with the two guys in the black Chevy?”

“ _Supernatural?_ Yep,” answers Will. “Okay, we’ll take Benji with us.”

* * *

Turns out the penthouse isn’t haunted – but the reason it’s cheap is because the sewers and gas lines are problematic and the toilet gets backed up a lot. Fixing that would require a complete do-over, which would end up costing much more than the penthouse itself. So they turn it down.

They spend the better part of two days debating back and forth about the remaining two apartments. Ethan thinks the bigger one is better, while Will’s fallen in love with the view from the balcony of the second one. Ethan wins in the end, because the bigger one is closer to HQ, and because he promises to let Will decorate the extra bedroom.

(There might also have been some bribing involved.)

They move in a week later.

* * *

“I don’t know why we thought this would be easy,” grumbles Will. “Why did we think this would be easy?”

“Because we’re dumbasses, that’s why,” answers Ethan, just as irritably.

Will’s currently hanging pictures from nails on the walls while making sure they’re not slanted at odd angles, while Ethan’s sorting through odds and ends from one of the cartons. They’ve been at it since morning – it’s now noon, and there’s still a lot of work left to do.

“Who knew this shit was so hard,” mutters Will, before putting the hammer aside and wiping his forehead. “Okay, I’m done, I’m gonna take a break now.” He collapses onto the couch that’s still wrapped in a sheet.

Ethan finishes his sorting a few minutes later and sits down next to Will. “I’ve never been this tired before, not even on a mission,” he announces.

“Tell me about it,” Will mumbles, listing sideways and ending up sprawled with his head in Ethan’s lap. “Let’s not work anymore. Let’s pay interns and make them do it for us.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against that somewhere,” comments Ethan. “Brassel would probably have a coronary if he finds out.”

“ _If_ he finds out,” repeats Will. “He won’t.”

“Don’t underestimate that man,” Ethan replies, absently running his fingers through Will’s hair. “He’s _everywhere_. There’s a reason even Everett’s scared of him, you know.”

“Everett’s a whiney pissbaby,” answers Will dismissively. “He wouldn’t last a second in the field. The only reason Brassel hasn’t kicked him out on his ass is because he’s really smart and he’s good at intel.”

“If they offered you Secretary, would you take it?” asks Ethan, only half-joking.

“Hell no,” replies Will, and closes his eyes. “That would mean no more field work.”

“What about after you retire?”

“After I retire from field work I’m handing in my resignation and moving far, far away,” Will declares. “I’ve had enough near-death experiences to last me multiple lifetimes.”

“And they’re far from over,” says Ethan, and Will laughs.

“Yeah. Unfortunately. Hey, you could come with me. We could move to Hawaii and set up a business or something.”

“What kind of business?”

“Haven’t thought of that yet,” admits Will.

Ethan laughs. “Okay. Why Hawaii?”

“It’s pretty,” answers Will nonchalantly. “And it’s far, but not _so_ far.”

They only meant to rest for a few minutes, but Will ends up asleep and Ethan can’t find it in him to wake him up. Eventually he dozes off too.

* * *

He wakes up to find Will setting things in the kitchen, and what looks like a small Walkman from the Stone Age placed on the counter. “What’s this?” he asks Will blearily, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Arrived like ten minutes ago,” reports Will. “Mission. I got one too.” He holds up another Walkman.

“You didn’t open it?”

“Nah, thought I’d wait for you.” He sets down a mug of coffee in front of Ethan. “I finished the bathrooms, by the way.”

Ethan nods, sipping the coffee. “How long are we gonna be sleeping on a mattress?” he wonders.

“I was thinking we could assemble the bed today,” Will says, stacking plates in a cabinet. “But if we’re taking this mission, we can’t possibly finish everything before we leave.”

“Let’s just take a look at what the mission is, and then see what we can finish before we have to leave,” decides Ethan.

They both listen to their respective Walkmans, and then Will says, “It’s not a long mission, Ethan. We could finish up after we come back.”

“Okay, yeah, that’ll work,” agrees Ethan. They proceed to pack their bags and report to HQ.

* * *

They return three days later, exhausted and covered in soot (there had been an, er, _accident_ involving a chimney). On top of all the work that’s still left to do, there’s now a thin layer of dust covering everything. With a sigh, Will picks up a broom. “I hate this,” he mutters, beginning to sweep the hallway floor.

“We don’t have to do this now,” Ethan replies, gently taking the broom from Will. “Let’s just get clean and get some sleep, okay?”

“If we put it off,” begins Will, but Ethan cuts across him.

“We’re not putting it off,” he says. “We’re just putting ourselves first. It’s _okay_ , Will,” he adds in response to Will’s unconvinced expression. “Just let go of the perfectionism for a bit, yeah?”

Will sighs again, but follows Ethan to the bedroom. The sight of the unassembled bed just makes him feel more tired. “Damn, I’d forgotten that,” he murmurs. “I really wanted to sleep in a proper bed tonight.”

“Well, look at it this way,” says Ethan, trying to cheer him up some, “once you’re asleep you’ll have no idea if you’re in a king-size or on an air mattress.”

It doesn’t work, of course. Will just looks even more disgruntled as he says, “I’ll get the air mattress.”

* * *

The next morning after breakfast Will gets to work on the sweeping, while Ethan begins dusting. It takes up the better part of the morning, and Will would have complained some more but Ethan keeps him cheerful, occasionally making jokes and singing random songs under his breath.

They break for lunch, after which Will begins stocking the bathrooms and arranging the kitchen. Ethan takes up the task of plugging in their various electronic devices, and setting up the home theater system in the living-room. He also moves the furniture around a little, takes the sheets off the sofas and plugs in the landline and internet. Will goes off on a grocery run to restock the fridge.

Ethan finishes somewhere around 7 PM. The bedrooms are the only thing left to do, along with installing a security system. He thinks he’ll take a break, and start working on the beds when Will arrives, and so he sits down on one of the sofas and turns the TV on.

There’s nothing much on TV. He flips through channels for a while before switching it off and leaning back on his sofa, beginning to think.

The domesticity he shares with Will is refreshing, a good contrast to their other life of saving the world and keeping themselves alive and relatively unharmed at the same time. Ethan’s also discovered that he can’t go a minute without thinking of Will, which is sometimes distracting but mostly just amusing, at least to Jane and Benji (who take every opportunity to point it out). There are things about Will that still, to this day, fascinate Ethan, despite having known him for at least two years now.

Will’s the most selfless person Ethan’s met, often giving up what he wants so that someone else can be happy. He’s seen it in action – when Will once canceled a date so he could volunteer at a homeless shelter instead; when Will lets Benji choose what to watch at movie nights, even though he’s getting somewhat tired of all the science fiction; the fact that Will anonymously sends his parents money every month, despite their horribly negligent behavior towards him during his childhood; the way Will always stops on his way to work just so he can buy breakfast for Stan, the homeless Vietnam vet who sits outside the Starbucks they frequent. It never ceases to amaze Ethan, and he’s found himself becoming a better person. Will’s done that to him, made him care about people he doesn’t know.

(Not that he didn’t already, of course – but before Ethan used to care in the sense that he didn’t want everyone to die if he failed to save the world. He never actually thought about individuals and their lives, until Will.)

Then there’s the way that Will often saves Ethan’s ass with absolutely no regard to his own life. He’s saved Ethan from falling off tall buildings more than once; from fires and from a watery grave; from hostage situations where he would certainly have died if not for Will’s selfless and absolutely, uncharacteristically, reckless interference; and oftentimes from himself. The missions and the violence and the death get to him, they always have, and it sometimes manifests in nightmares. Will is always there to wake him up, to assure him that everything’s okay and whatever he’s just seen isn’t real. Sometimes he feels guilty for keeping Will awake most of the night, but Will always scoffs, rolls his eyes and tells Ethan to stop being an idiot whenever he voices it.

There are many more admirable traits that Will possesses too – his ability to remain calm in the worst of situations, his determination to overcome any obstacle, his resilience and the way he can make people listen to him and admire him. He’s instantly likable in a way that Ethan’s not – his body language says more “regular fella” than “heroic savior of the world”, and it’s something that people find they can relate to – as opposed to Ethan whose presence is often commandeering and somewhat intimidating, especially to younger agents. Will serves as the perfect foil, as someone who is easier to talk to and relate with.

And on top of all that is the fact that Ethan just can’t stop staring at Will. He can’t stop _noticing_ him – the way Will looks when he concentrates, the way he laughs, that little smile he does when something makes him happy… Ethan can’t help but look (and get pissed when other people look too). He also notices when Will stares back when he thinks Ethan isn’t looking, and it makes him happy. It’s been a long time since someone’s looked at him the way Will does. It’s been a long time since he’s felt about someone the way he feels about Will.

 _Holy shit_ , he realizes. _I’m in love_.

* * *

Will comes back late from grocery shopping, his clothing torn and bruises showing on the exposed skin. He looks completely and utterly _done_ with everything. Even the way he’s clutching the grocery bags is disgruntled.

Ethan rushes over and takes the bags from his hands. “Holy shit, Will, what happened?”

“Some asshole tried to mug me in the parking lot,” explains Will irritably, moving into the kitchen. Ethan follows with the bags. “I beat him up and called the cops, but he managed to get in a few good hits. It’s nothing,” he adds when Ethan begins examining the bruises with his fingers.

“Looks a bit more than nothing to me,” argues Ethan. Luckily though it’s mostly just bruises – no open wounds. The shirt’s unsalvageable, though, which is a shame. Will liked that shirt, and Ethan liked how Will looked in it.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up, and I’ll put the groceries away,” suggests Ethan gently, and kisses Will’s forehead. “We’ll finish the bedrooms tomorrow. Let’s turn in early tonight?”

It’s already around 11, so early is out of the question, but Will doesn’t contradict, which is also unusual. “Okay,” he says agreeably. He blinks, and notices that the living-room’s been set up. “We could maybe watch a movie? Since you’ve finished the living-room already.”

“Good idea,” says Ethan with a smile. “I’ll make something for dinner while you’re getting cleaned up.”

He waits until he can hear the sound of the shower going, and then starts sifting through the bags, putting the purchases in their proper places and at the same time wondering what to make for dinner. Eventually he settles for pasta, and gets about making it. The shower’s stopped, and five minutes later Will emerges, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt.

“That smells great,” he says by way of greeting, plopping down into one of the chairs at the table in the kitchen.

“It’s almost done,” Ethan answers. “How’re you feeling?”

“Okay,” responds Will. “Compared to the rest of the shit we go through on a monthly basis, sometimes weekly, this is nothing.”

Ethan’s inclined to agree. The pasta finishes cooking and they eat it in the living-room, watching _Good Will Hunting_ on the newly-installed home theater system.

* * *

Because their last mission went well and nobody was injured enough to require recuperation time, they get two Tamagotchi games in the mail. Will stares in wonder at the small pink device in the palm of his hand. “How the hell did they program Tamagotchi games to carry IMF mission details?” he asks incredulously.

“I don’t care,” answers Ethan, annoyed. “The bigger question is, why do we have another mission literally one day after completing our last one?”

Will’s already viewing the contents of the Tamagotchi. “It’s urgent,” he says absently, watching the small monochrome screen intently.

“I find it hard to believe that another team isn’t fully capable of carrying out this mission,” gripes Ethan when they’re both done.

“Brassel’s probably got a good reason for assigning us,” Will argues, and he turns out to be right. The case involves interactions with a serial gambler who’s their mole – and who already is familiar with one of Jane’s aliases from a previous mission.

“We should be done in a week,” predicts Ethan, and they both groan simultaneously. The bedrooms still aren’t done.

* * *

They’re not done in one week. It takes them two and a half weeks, due to unforeseen complications. To top it all off, Will gets himself shot in the arm while defending Ethan. This earns him surgery and a three-day stay in the hospital.

He wakes up from anesthesia-induced sleep to find a concerned yet angry Ethan hovering over him. “You have _got_ to stop putting yourself on the line for me,” he begins, but Will shuts him up by raising his arm.

“Oh please,” he says tiredly. “You’d have died and you know it. The guy was in your blind spot.”

Ethan opens his mouth and then closes it, finding that Will, as usual, is right. “Don’t do it again,” he finally says, his voice a lot softer. He takes Will’s hand. “I hate seeing you like this. And I hate how much of a common occurrence this is becoming.”

“I know,” Will replies, offering a little smile. “I’m sorry to worry you.”

Ethan leans forward and kisses Will’s forehead. “Don’t be,” he replies. “Without you I’d have died a long time ago. And the world would probably have ended, too. A little worry is nothing compared to that.”

“All the same, I’d rather you didn’t,” Will tells him with a yawn, already tiring. “I know me saying that isn’t gonna make a difference, but,” he shrugs, and then winces when the movement pulls on the stitches in his bicep, “at least I tried.”

Ethan smiles down at him. “Get some rest,” he says gently. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You always are,” Will mumbles sleepily as he closes his eyes. “It’s one of the reasons why I love you.”

Ethan freezes – that’s the first time one of them has actually said it. And the fact that it’s Will makes it a million times better. He smiles fondly. “I love you too, you selfless idiot,” he replies. “Now go to sleep.”

Will’s snoring softly two seconds later.

* * *

They return to their apartment a full three weeks after they’d left. Will groans when he sees all the dust. “Don’t worry, I’ll get to it,” Ethan says hurriedly, before Will can volunteer and then refuse to let Ethan do it. His arm’s still in a sling, for God’s sake.

“No, there’s no point,” Will contradicts. “We’ll only get called on another mission and this time it’ll be for like four months and someone will get shot _again_ most probably me and we’ll _never_ be able to complete moving in and oh my God this sucks I almost miss the potheads at this point–”

“Shush, honey, it’s okay,” laughs Ethan, amused as always by Will’s ranting. Will looks offended at being interrupted, which of course makes Ethan laugh harder. “Okay, you know what, let’s just go with your original idea,” Ethan suggests.

“Which was?” asks Will, narrowing his eyes with suspicion.

Ethan’s only response is a crafty grin that reminds Will eerily of Benji in his best pranking mood.

* * *

“I want a pay raise,” Ginny tells Will, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, blocking his view of the TV. “I’ve already helped you out with Ripley and now I’m dusting your house for you.”

“We already pay you $30 an hour!” protests Ethan, outraged.

The petite blond intern scoffs. “That’s nowhere near enough. I don’t care how many bad guys you two have beaten up; if I don’t get a pay raise I’m pranking you two so hard it’ll make Benji cry with delight.”

Will stares up at her incredulously. “You’re being ridiculous, kiddo,” he tells her. “Tony gets paid less than you do but he’s happy.”

“That’s because he does less work,” she points out.

“And I’m _not_ happy!” Tony yells from the guest bedroom, where he’s putting up curtains.

“We pay you $25 an hour to put up motherfucking curtains!” Will yells back. “Why the hell aren’t you happy?”

Tony emerges from the room, looking disheveled. “I’ve just lost a fight with the fucking curtains, Will, that’s why,” he says crossly. His brown curls are tousled and in disarray. “If you’ve got an issue with giving us a pay raise, then you can just put up your own damn curtains.”

“But my arm,” Will says, and turns the full force of the puppy eyes on the unsuspecting interns. He holds up his sling for emphasis.

“He’s hurt,” Ethan adds. “You can’t make an injured man do work, can you?”

“ _He’s_ hurt, yes, but you’re not,” Tony points out. “You’re just _lazy_ ,” he accuses.

“No, I’m providing Will company!” Ethan corrects. “That, sir, is a full-time job, the likes of which you can’t even comprehend.”

“Whatever,” Ginny says, tossing her duster aside. “Pay raise, or you do it yourself.”

“Fine,” grumbles Ethan. “$35 for you and $30 for Tony, is that okay?”

“Nope,” she says, grinning now that she’s got her way. “$40 for me and Tony both.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” begins Ethan, but stops himself, realizing there's no point. “Fine,” he allows grumpily.

“Why can’t you two be more like Enrique?” asks Will, waving an arm in his direction. “Look at him, working away without complaining at all. You’re an angel, Enrique.”

Enrique, who’s quietly reading the manual for assembling the bed, looks up and grins at Ethan and Will before returning to work.

“You obviously don’t know Enrique very well,” Tony, who's Enrique's best friend, tells Will. “He’s probably plotting something right this instant.”

“Maybe so, but he’s not gonna follow up with it,” predicts Ethan.

“And why not?” asks Ginny.

“Because come on, you three bitch a lot but you definitely love Will,” he points out with a grin. “That’s why you always agree to do whatever he asks. The money is just a bonus, isn’t it?”

“Don’t project your own lovesick state onto us,” answers Tony deadpan, and stalks off to the guest room to begin his battle with the curtains anew.

Will grins at Ginny’s retreating back as she, too, leaves to return to work. “Told you this is a good idea,” he says smugly, happily nestling into Ethan’s side.

“Unethical, I’m sure of it,” snorts Ethan, but Will isn’t listening. “What would Brassel say, Will?”

“Probably congratulate me for being resourceful,” Will retorts. “I’m smart, you know. And Brassel totally likes me more than he likes you.”

“True, and unfair,” responds Ethan. “I’ve known him longer.”

“Ah, but I’m more adorable,” Will says with a straight face. “Also, you’re a reckless idiot with no respect for authority.”

“True again,” replies Ethan. He watches as Enrique finishes his manual and heads into the guest bedroom to start on the beds. “Life is unfair, eh, Will?” he asks jokingly.

“Nah, I wouldn’t say so,” Will answers, lazily poking Ethan in the side. “I’d say it’s pretty fucking awesome, you know? I don’t even have to work. I got interns who do it for me.”

“Not for free!” shouts Ginny from the bedroom.

“Stop eavesdropping, you eavesdropper!” Will yells back.

Ethan listens to Will argue back and forth with the three interns, and grins to himself. Will’s got a point – life’s pretty fucking awesome – at least, until someone else tries to break the world. Until then, though, Ethan’s going to appreciate the peace and quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I _know_ I said light-hearted. This is as light as it gets for these two.
> 
> Also. You guys. JEREMY RENNER GOT AN ACCOUNT AND SIMON PEGG TOTALLY CALLED HIM "BILLY BRANDT". _Billy - fucking - Brandt_. Everyone and their mothers knows it's _Will_.
> 
> Feedback does wonders for the writer's-blocked soul, you guys. This is _science_. Somewhere.
> 
> I can also be found on [tumblr](http://improud-ofus.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Love,  
> Remy


	13. Nobody Else (Can Take Me Higher)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan wakes up from surgery high as a kite... and doesn't remember Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a month and a half struggling to write up a nice, action-y, thriller-y, suspense-y chapter... and failed. It's currently rotting somewhere on my laptop. But I felt I had to put _something_ up, seeing as how I've already made you people wait for so long.
> 
> My apologies for that, by the way. I've had midterms and a hectic return to university, plus some family issues that have made the past couple months or so real unpleasant. I haven't exactly been in the frame of mind to really think and plan out stuff the way this fic deserves.
> 
> Anyway, this short little thingy is inspired by this [hella adorable video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqebEymqFS8). It's just an excuse to write gratuitous EthanWill fluff, really. Enjoy~ :)

Will returns from the bathroom to find Ethan awake, blinking groggily at his surroundings. He seems not to be aware of where he is, as evidenced by his confused expression and the way he's completely ignoring the fact that half his hair has been shaved off. But in all probability, thinks Will, it's because he hasn't noticed it yet, or there would have been one hell of a temper tantrum already.

“Hey,” he says softly, moving to stand by Ethan's side. “How are you feeling?”

Ethan blinks up at him. “Wha- who're you?”

“What do you mean, who'm I?” asks Will, momentarily thrown. Is this a prank, or...? He frowns down at Ethan.

“I do not know you,” Ethan tells him, like it's obvious. He looks completely earnest, and it hits Will that it's probably not a prank. No one can wake up from surgery and act so convincingly, not when they're so out of it–

Oh.

_Oh._

Ethan's so drugged up and out of it he can't even remember Will. Will supposes he should be a little worried, but it's kind of, well... endearing. Because Ethan looks a lot like a baby chick and not a Super-Badass Secret Agent of Awesomeness.

(Benji's nickname. Will is only responsible for like... 70% of it. He's definitely responsible for the Bad _ass_ part, arguing that Bad _arse_ doesn't have the same ring to it.)

“Who are you?” Ethan asks again, and then coughs.

That startles Will back to his senses, and he asks, “Do you want water?”

Ethan nods gratefully, and tries to smile. It comes out looking like he's going to cry, but Will doesn't comment. Instead he pushes the straw through Ethan's lips and watches as he takes small, careful sips, and when he's done Will puts the glass away and asks, “Better?”

“Yes,” Ethan replies, and he does sound better. He tries another smile, a more successful one. “Are you – do you work here?”

Will shakes his head. He wonders if he should tell Ethan, or if it'll come to him slowly. He reaches over and presses the button to call a nurse, and sits back in the hard plastic chair he's been residing in for the past day and a half.

“You're really – really good-looking,” Ethan says abruptly, lying back and settling into the covers. He still looks befuddled and his gaze is a bit glassy, but the compliment seems sincere all the same. “What's your name?”

“Will,” answers the man, nonplussed. Is it _normal_ to completely forget the man you've been living with for eight months now?

As if on cue, the door opens and a nurse comes in to check Ethan over. She takes his vital signs and asks a few questions, and then turns to Will. “How long's he been awake for?”

“A couple minutes or so,” Will tells her. “I let him have some water. Uh – he doesn't remember me.”

“Totally expected,” she tells him with a small smile. “Those were some pretty potent drugs we put him on. He was in a lot of pain, you know, that was quite a spectacular injury he came in with.”

Will scowls at the reminder of the day before, when Ethan had been brought in semi-conscious and covered in blood, Will right behind him. When a mission goes well it goes brilliantly, but when it goes bad it goes straight to shit. There's no in-between. They got caught on the  _shit has hit the fan_ end of the spectrum, and as usual Ethan did something completely reckless and completely heroic that's landed him in here with a punctured lung, liver contusions, a broken leg and a bullet graze to the side of his head.

Ethan doesn't half-ass anything either. He doesn't get a small cut or a bruise or even a pulled muscle, oh  _no_ , he gets the entire fucking package.

The nurse finishes up, and then says, “If there's anything you two want, let me know, okay?”

Will nods and thanks her, but Ethan's response is markedly different. “Isn't he so handsome?” he asks the nurse, grinning dopily at Will.

The nurse laughs. “Yes, he is,” she agrees. “Do you know who he is?”

Ethan shakes his head no. “I was about to ask him when you came. Do  _you_ know who he is?”

“Yes, I do,” she tells him. “Why don't I leave you two to it, then?”

Ethan turns to Will the minute she's gone. “You are, you know. Very handsome.”

To his own surprise, Will feels his skin go warm all over, and he knows he's blushing pink. “Uh... thanks,” he mutters, and Ethan offers him a brilliant smile.

“So,” he says conversationally, though he still sounds sleep and his eyes have that glazed over look. “How do we know each other?”

Will leans forward in his plastic chair and smiles without really thinking about it. “Well – we're together.”

Ethan blinks, smile melting off his face. “What –  _really_ ?” he asks, and he sounds so shocked that Will feels offended for a moment, before he remembers Ethan's not really himself right now.

“What, there's something wrong with being with me?” he asks a bit defensively. _You're arguing with a man high as a kite_ , his brain tells him.

_Fuck you, brain, I'll say what I want_ , he tells his brain.

“No, it's just.” Ethan looks absolutely _gobsmacked_. “I'm with _you_?”

Will nods, not knowing whether to laugh at Ethan's expression or be irritated. “Yeah.”

“Ho-ooooly _shit_ ,” Ethan exhales, drawing out the first syllable. “Are you _serious_? I get to be with _you_? You're so... so good-looking!”

Will blushes even harder, if it's possible, and really, why? Ethan's complimented him many times before; it's not exactly a new thing. Maybe it's because Ethan thinks he's handsome even when he doesn't even know who he is. The thought's flattering and makes Will fall just a little bit more in love – not that he'd thought that was even possible.

“Wow.” Apparently Ethan's still suspended in disbelief. “Really, though? We're together? You and me?”

“Yeah,” Will tells him, quirking a smile. “Yeah, we are.”

“But – _how_?” Ethan is now looking at Will closely, like he can't quite figure it out.

Will's smile widens. “You annoyed me till I fell in love, actually,” he tells Ethan. “You wouldn't leave me alone.”

“And you _agreed_ to live with me even after all that?” Ethan asks, astounded. “I must be the luckiest man in the world.”

Will can't help it; he laughs. “Considering how often you escape death – yeah, I agree.”

“Escape death?” repeats Ethan, brow furrowed. “Why?”

“It's kind of... in the job description,” Will answers vaguely, waving an arm around. “That's what we do.”

“So we're superheroes?”

“No.” Before Ethan get look _too_ disappointed, Will adds, “we're spies. Like, secret agents kind of spies.”

“That is so _cool_ ,” Ethan says, and just wow, he looks like an over-excited child on Christmas morning and Will wonders when was the last time Ethan let his walls drop like this, let the facade of team leader fall away for a minute. Even when it's just the two of them Ethan is calm, collected, has his head screwed on straight and knows just what to do. But this Ethan? This Ethan lets every emotion show itself on his face, and doesn't care.

Will kind of likes this Ethan.

(The compliments have less to do with it than the utter  _cuteness_ of it all.

...okay, that's a lie. Compliments and cuteness both at 50%.)

“So, tell me,” Ethan says, and Will snaps back to attention. “How did we meet?”

“Long story,” Will says, but Ethan is persistent.

“I got time.”

“You need rest,” Will informs him. As if proving his point, Ethan suppresses a yawn, and then pretends he didn't do it.

“No, I'm fine,” he says stubbornly. “And I want to know about what could _possibly_ make someone as – as _amazing_ as you want to shack up with me.”

Will laughs again. “I'm actually serious, it  _is_ a long story. You'll probably remember it when you wake up again.”

“Okay, simpler question,” Ethan says. “How long have I had you?”

Will thinks for a second, and then answers, “Around a year and a half. But we knew each other before that.”

Ethan mulls this over, and then inquires, looking  _painfully_ earnest, “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do,” Will answers with a smile, and yeah his cheeks are lighting up again, if the warmth on his face is anything to go by.

“You're blushing,” Ethan informs him helpfully. “I see you do that a lot.”

“It's not exactly a voluntary reaction,” Will points out.

“It's very... endearing,” Ethan tells him. “I can see why I fell in love with you.” He's quiet for a moment, and then, “But _seriously_? I ended up with _you_?” and he sounds so surprised at his own luck, all over again.

“I think we established that already,” Will says with a laugh. “Yes, you ended up with me, we've been together for over a year, and we live together now,” he summarizes, watching as Ethan practically _glows_ with delight. It's heartwarming.

“I can _not_ believe it,” Ethan mutters, staring at Will like his face holds all the answers to every question ever. “I just... wow. I am so _lucky_.”

“Me too,” Will says softly, and puts his hand on Ethan's face. “I think you should sleep now,” he says with a gentle smile. “You're tiring yourself out.”

“But I want to talk to you,” protests Ethan. “I really really _really_ like you.”

“We can talk about whatever you want when you wake up,” Will promises him.

“Okay,” Ethan says, looking mollified at the prospect. Then his expression changes, and Will understands – he's still himself enough to not say it out loud, but the expectant look on his face coupled with the little twitch of his fingers tells Will exactly what he wants to know.

“I'll stay,” he says, and is proved right when Ethan offers him another brilliant smile. He leans forward and covers Ethan's hand with his own, and says, “Go to sleep.”

Testament to how tired he really was but hiding it (because God forbid Ethan Hunt does what's good for him), he's out and snoring softly within minutes. Will smiles at his prone form, before putting his arms on the bed and resting his head on them.

* * *

He's woken by the sensation of rough, callused fingers carding through his hair, and he opens his eyes to see Ethan smiling at him. “Morning,” says Ethan casually, like they're at home on a Saturday morning and not in the hospital.

“Morning,” Will replies, then yawns. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Ethan tells him. “They've got some pretty strong stuff here,” he adds, referring to the painkillers.

Will snickers as he remembers the previous night. “Yeah, they do. How long you been awake?” He doesn't make a move to get up or even lift his head – Ethan playing with his hair feels  _really freaking nice_ . They've been so caught up in missions and work that he honestly can't remember the last time they just took a day and relaxed, and it catches up to him how much he misses it.

“Not long,” Ethan answers his question. “How long have you been here?”

“Since they brought you in,” Will answers, tangling his fingers with those of Ethan's free hand, taking care not to touch the IV. “It's been a couple days.”

“Jane and Benji?” inquires Ethan.

“They're fine,” Will answers with another yawn. “They'll be by to visit in the afternoon. They're kind of pissed at me because my staying here with you means they have to do the paperwork for the mission.”

“So now I know your true intentions,” teases Ethan. “You stayed here to escape paperwork.”

“Oh no, you've caught me out,” grins Will. “No, but really – you worried the shit out of me and I could sit here and threaten you and yell at you not to do it again but I might as well be talking to a brick wall, so.” He leans forward a little and places a kiss on Ethan's lips. “I'll just settle for saying I'm glad you're okay. Or, you know, as okay as can be expected when it comes to you.”

Ethan smiles at that, and then says, “How long till we can go home?”

“I think they wanna keep you another couple of days for observation,” Will tells him.

“Hmm,” hums Ethan thoughtfully, and absently tugs at a strand of Will's hair.

A comfortable silence follows, during which Ethan continues making a mess of Will's already bad bedhead, and Will closes his eyes again and decides that sleep sounds nice. God knows he hasn't been getting enough lately, what with the mission and then Ethan getting hurt.

He's just about dozed off, lulled by Ethan's fingers in his hair, when Ethan asks, “Why are you smiling?”

“Oh.” He hadn't been aware that he was. “I guess I'm happy you're fine. And you know, back to being you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, you don't remember?” asks Will, grinning.

Ethan shakes his head, and then stops at once. “Why does my head feel weird?” He takes his hand out of Will's hair and puts it up to his own, and then freezes all over. The hand holding Will's increases its grip almost painfully. “Will,” he says, and it feels a lot like the calm before the storm. “Where is my hair?”

“They had to shave half of it off,” Will answers, trying and failing to suppress laughter. “So they could put in stitches.”

“They couldn't do it with _out_ touching my hair?” Ethan asks, and his eye twitches a little.

“No, they couldn't, so suck it up and deal,” grins Will. “Anyway, you look good with uneven, chopped off hair as well.”

Ethan tries to glare but it comes out as more of a grimace, and he sighs. “Ugh,” is all he says, before taking his hand away and putting it back in Will's hair.

“What don't I remember?” he asks a minute later.

“Well, you woke up in the middle of the night, last night,” Will informs him, “and you were so high on painkillers you couldn't remember a thing. You just kept, like–” his grin grows wider, “– _complimenting_ me. Like, you wouldn't stop talking about how good-looking I was. It was adorable.”

Ethan makes a face. “Really?”

Will nods. “Yep. And then you asked how we knew each other, and I told you, and wow, you should've seen the look on your face.”

“Let me guess, I began waxing poetical about how I'm the luckiest man in the world,” Ethan says drily.

“Yes, actually,” Will says, and kisses him again. “It was really... endearing.”

“Well, I wasn't wrong,” Ethan says with a smile. “What else did I say?”

“That's pretty much the gist of it,” Will answers. “You just...” he waves his arm again in an all-encompassing gesture. “...made a lot of heart eyes. Which isn't any different from what you normally do, but you know. It was nice anyway. Mainly because you found me awesome even when you were stoned as shit.”

Ethan flushes a little, light pink dusting his cheeks. “Well, you _are_ awesome,” he says finally. “So it's not like I wasn't right, or anything.”

“Ah but you wouldn't be Ethan if you weren't convinced you're _always_ right,” teases Will, and kisses the tip of Ethan's nose.

“Well, I'm _almost_ always right,” Ethan points out. “We're all alive, aren't we?”

“Playing catch me if you can with a ruthless murderer isn't counted as 'almost always right',” Will lets him know with a snort. “It's counted under the heading of 'utter and reckless idiocy'.”

Ethan cracks a smile, but doesn't argue any further. “At least you're self-aware now,” sighs Will, and brushes what remains of Ethan's hair out of his eyes. “And you need a haircut.”

Ethan's smile turns into a sour look. “Don't remind me.”

“It's just hair. Not the end of the world.”

Ethan makes a face but does not deign to otherwise reply. Instead he just continues messing up Will's hair, and then, some time later, yawns. “I think I should get back to sleep.”

“You probably should,” agrees Will. “You're not hungry though, are you?”

“Pretty sure I can't eat even if I wanted to,” says Ethan, gesturing towards his abdomen with his free hand.

“Hm, yeah.” Will kisses him one more time, and then says, “Okay, go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up.”

Ethan smiles, and this time it's so different. Much softer, gentler and full of love, very reminiscent of the smiles he gives when Will does something particularly sweet for him. “I know,” he says. “You always are.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your feedback is _greatly_ appreciated  <33 I love you all, and thank you SO MUCH for sticking with me even though I'm not exactly diligent with my updates the way I should be. It means a lot to me.
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x


	14. We'll Drive 1000 Miles Per Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tipped off in the middle of the night by Luther that there's a warrant for Will's arrest due to stolen data, Ethan and Will find themselves on the run and chased by the IMF and Interpol both. The fact that there's an actual manhunt for them, plus an APB, complicates matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the suspense-y, thriller-y, action-y chapter I talked about last time? Well, this is it. It was at a standstill for some time, and then when I started my winter break I told myself, "God dammit, Remy, you're finishing that damn chapter if it costs you your sanity." An anger-induced, coffee-fueled typing session later I found myself with... 20k words.
> 
> So then I sat and wondered if I should release it as a single chapter, or as two chapters. But god damn, it _is_ long. So I'm splitting it up into two chapters of 10k words each.
> 
> Title from _1000 Miles Per Hour_ by OK Go.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

The phone brings Ethan out of his deep, fatigue-induced sleep. The ringtone is some obnoxious theme song from whatever show Benji’s into these days – Ethan can’t keep track – and he really considers changing his passcode. Then again, Benji could easily hack into it in a matter of minutes and mess with his ringtone _again_ so there really is no point.

The sound is escalating and he’s afraid of waking Will so he brushes his thumb over “Reject” but stops himself at the last minute. The caller is Luther Stickell, and Luther would never call in the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency.

Ethan presses the “Accept” button instead, and puts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Besides him, Will is still soundly asleep, lying on his side facing Ethan. He’s wearing one of Ethan’s old shirts, but he left the first few buttons open and now it’s pulled down his arm, leaving his shoulder bare. Ethan listens to Luther speak and mutely watches Will sleep.

“Ethan, you there?” Luther asks, sounding impatient. Just as well – Ethan hasn’t spoken since the first “hello”.

“Yeah, sorry,” Ethan manages to whisper, still looking at Will. “Are you sure, Luther? About everything?”

“Would I lie to you?” demands Luther irritably. “Now hurry up. And take care, okay?” He hangs up abruptly.

Ethan puts the phone aside, feeling numb and shocked. He’s not even fully awake yet, but he’s alert and as always, he’s going to do what needs to be done. So he leans forward, gently kisses Will’s temple and murmurs, “Wake up, Will.”

Normally Will would roll over, mutter about five more minutes, but Ethan’s urgent tone gets through to him and so he’s up instantly, sitting up and blinking at Ethan. “What’s up?” he asks warily. “Everything okay?”

Satisfied now that Will’s awake, Ethan gets out of bed and locates his shirt, pulling it on in one fluid, practiced motion. “No, it’s not,” he replies tersely to Will, who’s following his cue and pulling on his jeans over his cotton shorts. “Will, we gotta run, okay? We need to get out of here in under fifteen minutes, and we need to _hurry_. I’ll explain on the way.”

Will looks like he wants to ask a thousand questions, but he just nods and begins putting his feet into socks and shoes. “Food?” he asks quietly when he’s done, striding over to the dresser and beginning to throw extra clothes into a backpack.

“Yeah, get something nonperishable from the kitchen,” instructs Ethan. “Oh, and we’ll be leaving our cell phones behind. Don’t want to be traced.”

Will nods briskly, and heads into the kitchen. Meanwhile, Ethan – now fully dressed – opens the bedside table’s drawer, slides back the false bottom and takes the gun he’s stored there, shoving it into the back of his jeans. He pockets a couple clips, puts on his jacket and then hides three knives as well, just in case, before grabbing the backpack and moving out of the room. His cell phone is still on the bed where he chucked it in a hurry – he takes it, deletes Luther’s call from the log and throws it back on the bed. He knows the phone will be checked, and even though it’s moot he doesn’t want whoever does the checking to know that it was Luther who tipped him off.

He meets Will in the living-room. Will’s holding a bag of food, and Ethan’s pleased to see he’s also found the time to arm himself under his jacket. “We’re taking the Porsche,” Ethan tells him as they walk briskly out of the apartment, side by side. “It’s faster. We’ll ditch it when we’re out of the city and find something else.”

“Ethan?” Will questions softly. “Are we in danger?”

It’s a silly question, one Will already knows the answer to, but Ethan understands that he needs to hear it from someone else. “Yes,” he answers as they forego the elevator and begin taking the stairs three at a time. “And we only have seven minutes left. We need to _hurry_.”

They don’t speak again until they’re in the car and on the road. It’s almost half past two and the roads, while not empty, are still much more navigable than they are during rush hours. Ethan drives more recklessly than usual, maneuvering the car like it’s a GTA game and not real life. Will remains silent, looking thoughtfully out the window and fidgeting a little. Ethan glances sideways at him occasionally, but doesn’t speak until they’re out of the city and the roads are emptier.

He puts his foot down on the accelerator and the car gains speed, eating up the road like it’s nothing. Behind them, the city lights sparkle and then dim out, before dropping completely out of sight in a few minutes. Will is still quiet. His eyebrows are drawn together in a frown, and he’s biting his lower lip while also playing with the hem of Ethan’s old white shirt that he’s still wearing.

Ethan reaches out and takes Will’s hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “Luther called,” he explains. “He says there’s been an intelligence leak on the mission that we’re collaborating with Interpol on. He didn’t have time to tell me what exactly the leak was, but he did tell me that Interpol’s blaming you, because you’re the Chief Analyst. They were going to arrest you. Take you directly from the apartment to HQ. Luther said they’re really pissed. He said to run.”

“But why?” Will finally asks. “I could have just told them the truth – that I had nothing to do with the leak!”

“Whoever it was wore a mask, Will,” Ethan tells him. “It does look like you in the CCTV footage. He also knew your password, and took the documents directly from your computer.”

Will blanches at that. “How?” he asks incredulously. “No one knows my password, not even Everett!”

“Maybe a virus, something that records your keystrokes?” Ethan suggests.

“Impossible,” Will says at once. “My computer is one of the most secure machines in the entire building, possibly the entire _city_ , Ethan. No one could plant a virus – I’d know the minute they tried to.”

“I got nothing else. I’d ask Benji, but we can’t contact him or Jane right now,” Ethan replies.

“But Ethan,” Will tries again, “we could go talk to Brassel. Brassel would know it’s not me.”

“Will,” Ethan says, quite seriously, “Brassel puts the organization above everything else. He suspected me during the entire Davian fiasco. The fact that he knows us well means nothing right now.”

Will lapses into silence, and Ethan’s heart sinks when the little bit of hope that had been on Will’s face disappears. He goes on, gentler this time, “They wouldn’t have believed you, Will. They would have tortured the information out of you.”

He gets a nod in return. “I – I know,” Will says, voice stretched taut. “So – how did you find out about all of this?”

“Luther found out – he was in late for some extra work and he overheard Brassel talking about it on the phone. He was seen, but he got away before they could catch up with him. He called me before ditching his cell phone; told me to grab you and run,” Ethan explains.

Will ponders this for a while, and then asks, “Where are we going?”

“Dunmore, West Virginia,” answers Ethan. “That’s where Luther said to meet up with him. He says he’s trying to figure out what the leak is, and who did it.”

“Do you think he can?”

“I don’t know. Let’s hope he can.”

After a short, thoughtful silence, Will inquires, “How far is Dunmore?”

“Four hours by car,” Ethan tells him. “I imagine they’ve put our names on No-Fly lists, so we can’t go by air.”

“The airport would be the first place they’d check anyway,” Will adds somewhat absently. “Next they’d access every CCTV camera they can lay their hands on, try to see if we’re in any public place. Finally, they’ll put an APB out for us, and probably send a team after us.”

He’s talking without really paying attention to what he’s saying, and his grip on Ethan’s hand is almost painfully tight. His face is still pale. “Will, we’ll be fine,” Ethan finds himself saying, though he’s not sure he believes it. “We’ll meet up with Luther, he’ll clear this clusterfuck up, and everything will be back to the way it was.”

Will offers Ethan a nod and a strained smile. “I sure hope so. Thank you,” he adds.

“Don’t mention it.”

* * *

Will falls asleep a few minutes later, finally taken over by exhaustion. They’d come back from a mission just a week ago only to be thrown face-first into the IMF-Interpol collaboration, which involved spending long hours going over strategy and intel, and dealing with the infuriatingly bureaucratic methods of the higher-ups (mostly Everett and a similar asshole from Interpol). Will is immune to these types, having dealt with them for so long, but Ethan isn’t and a lot of outbursts would have occurred if it hadn’t been for Will.

It’s around 3:15 now and Ethan’s well aware that his adrenalin rush is fading and he’ll be feeling the symptoms of drowsiness in no time at all. He considers his options – wake Will up and make him drive; drive the rest of the trip and possibly get them both killed in a car crash; or stop at a motel for the night and continue the trip first thing in the morning. The last option looks the most appealing. The APB probably won’t be out till morning. They should be safe.

He consults the GPS in the car – the next town in the way is Strasburg, which is approximately another hour away. Ethan suppresses a yawn and turns the radio on, keeping the volume low. Will’s slumped in his seat, head resting against the window, looking tense even in sleep. Ethan reaches out, runs his hand down the side of Will’s face and, when Will wakes with a start, softly says, “You can push the seat back, honey. If you’re gonna sleep, at least be comfortable.”

Will nods blearily at him and does as suggested, adjusting the seat so that it’s almost completely flat and lying down on his side, facing Ethan. “You look tired,” he comments quietly. “Maybe we should stop for the night.”

“We will,” Ethan informs him. “We’re an hour out from Strasburg – once we’re there we’ll find a motel, sleep for a few hours, and be on our way. Luther’s expecting us by noon tomorrow.”

“You think this might have been planned?” Will asks with a yawn. “To keep us so busy with plans and briefings and whatnot that we’re half-dead from exhaustion, and then frame me? If we’re tired we’ll make mistakes, and be easier to catch.”

“I won’t be surprised if that’s true,” Ethan says. “It would make sense… but it would also mean that the mole is someone who’s involved in the IMF-Interpol case.”

“Could be anyone from either side,” Will points out. “We don’t know _everyone_ who’s involved.”

“Most probably someone from our side, who knows the layout of the building and where your office is, and how to get into your computer,” replies Ethan. “Who, though?”

“Let’s hope Luther can find out,” Will says, and yawns again. “Before any major damage’s done,” he then adds.

Ethan nods. “Yeah.” He glances down at Will. “Go back to sleep, Will. I’ll wake you when I find a motel.”

“Wake me up if you get too tired to drive,” Will says seriously. “Promise me. Don’t get all noble and sacrifice your rest so I can sleep.”

“I don’t get all _noble_ –”

“Spare me, Ethan.”

“Fine. I promise.” Ethan pretends to be annoyed, but he’s fighting a smile and Will knows it too.

* * *

It’s 4:30 when Ethan finally finds a motel. He wakes Will and checks into the Sunnyside Inn. It’s nondescript and shady – typically bad interior decoration, suspicious stains and horrible wallpaper – but they’re too sleepy to care. Ethan takes a moment to lock and bolt the door and windows, while Will kicks off his boots and gets into bed. They fall asleep in seconds, Ethan with his gun under his pillow and Will with his knife.

* * *

It’s Will who wakes up first, and immediately he checks the time. It’s 9 o’clock, which means if they forego breakfast and leave immediately they can get to the rendezvous point with time to spare. He puts his hand on Ethan’s shoulder and shakes gently. “Ethan? Time to get up. We gotta go, it’s nine.”

Ethan is instantly awake. “Let me go pee and we’re out of here.”

“I’ll go get the car ready,” Will tells him, and heads on outside.

There’s only one other car out there, a ’96 Mustang that presumably belongs to whoever runs the motel during the night. It’ll do perfectly, he thinks, and immediately he gets to work. It doesn’t take him long to break into it and get the engine running. He straightens to find three men standing a few yards away, watching him closely.

They’re dressed casually, but their closed-off expressions and alert postures indicate that they’re either IMF or Interpol. Immediately Will tenses – a fight is pretty much inevitable at this point, and he’d rather have it over with fast. He checks his watch – 9:09 – and then says, keeping his tone casual, “What’s up, boys? Anything I can help you with?”

The one in the middle, a tall muscled blond with an orange tan and mean gray eyes, steps forward. “We have orders to arrest you immediately, Mr. Brandt. Things will be much easier if you come quietly.”

“Easier for me, or for you?” questions Will, feeling glad he’s got his knife in his belt and a gun in the back of his pants.

One of the cronies – Will’s dubbed him Red on account of his sunburn – steps forward and says, “Talking won’t get you anywhere, Mr. Brandt. If I were you I would cut it out and hand myself in.”

“Oh yeah?” challenges Will, his tone switching from neutral to provocative. “Who’s gonna make me?”

The third one – Conceited Rich Kid, Will thinks, going by his attire (CRK for short) – says haughtily, “We are,” before making the first move.

Will blocks the punch easily, seizing CRK’s wrist and throwing him bodily over his head. CRK hits the pavement with a dull thud. Blondie rushes forward, aiming a kick at Will. Will dodges out of the way, countering it with a deft, strategic jab to the side that knocks the wind out of him. Red clearly thinks Will’s distracted, but is proved wrong when Will grabs his oncoming fist and twists his arm behind his back, eliciting a strangled yell. He doesn’t stop until he hears a faint _pop_ , and then leaves Red alone as he howls over his dislocated shoulder.

CRK’s up again and is making a beeline straight for Will, who makes use of CRK’s momentum and knocks him flat on his back. He whirls around and punches Red in the jaw, knocking him out, and then kicks Blondie in the nuts, drawing an enraged howl. CRK charges again, but this time when Will knocks him down he doesn’t get up again.

It’s just Blondie now. Will doesn’t know which agency exactly these agents are from, but they’re barely a challenge. The tan and sunburn on Blondie and Red respectively lead him to assume that they probably spend most of their time vacationing and not actually doing much work.

He’s breathing hard, chest heaving up and down as he takes in great galloping breaths. Will watches him, notices his every move, and prepares himself for the inevitable attack.

Suddenly Blondie lets loose a loud, bloodcurdling roar and lunges forward, aiming directly for Will’s neck. The analyst stops thinking (and ain’t _that_ a paradox, hardy har har) and lets his body take over – he grabs Blondie’s head with both hands and slams it in the hood of the car. There is a _crunch_ as Blondie’s nose shatters, and then he passes out in a blur of pain and blood.

As if on cue, Ethan walks out of the motel room, looking irritable. There are large wet spots all over his clothes. ”You wouldn’t _believe_ ,” he begins, and stops short when he sees Will standing over three unconscious men. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch, blanch, or lose his calm in any way. “I see we’ve been found,” he says, tone neutral.

Will nods uneasily, and begins dragging the limp forms of the three men where they won’t be spotted easily. He returns to the car to find that Ethan’s got their stuff loaded in the stolen Mustang, and is ready behind the wheel.

“How come you didn’t hear all the commotion?” Will asks once they’re on the road. He’s nervous, but like Ethan maintains a calm demeanor. It’s one thing to let his nerves show when it’s just him and Ethan, but it’s completely another to do so when they’re on a mission. Or in the kind of sticky situation that they are in now, for that matter.

“The sink broke,” Ethan answers, “along with a couple of pipes. I couldn’t hear anything above all the water.”

“Good thing the motel was pretty much deserted,” mutters Will. “Because they made enough noise to wake the dead.”

“Were they Interpol or IMF?”

“If they’re IMF, they must be new. I’ve never seen them before.”

“Did they know who you were?”

“They knew my name, yeah, but they didn’t seem to know me beyond that. I guess that makes them Interpol; pretty much everyone at the IMF knows who we are. They should be out for a couple of hours or so at the max,” adds Will. “Enough for us to be far, far away by the time they report back to their boss.”

“But how could they have found us?” Ethan wonders. It’s bugging him – neither he nor Will have used any traceable electronics since they fled their apartment, and when they’d checked in there still hadn’t been an APB out. “You think they could have been following us?”

“Unlikely,” refutes Will at once. “Or they would have caught up to us earlier than that.”

“They knew we’d run, though,” Ethan muses. “They would have figured it out the moment they identified Luther.”

“But they’d have no way of knowing where we went,” Will points out. “It’s got to be something else.”

“We’ve got to change our route, though,” Ethan says. “I don’t want to take a risk.”

“You said Luther’s expecting us by noon today, though,” Will replies. “What if we’re so late he doesn’t think we’re coming? Maybe he’ll think we’ve gotten caught.”

“If that happens then he’ll go on by himself,” Ethan tells Will. “He’ll still try to figure out who it was that framed you.”

“And if he doesn’t find them?” asks Will dubiously.

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Okay.” Will turns on the radio. The previous owner had it set on a rock channel, and Will relaxes minutely as the opening chords of a White Stripes song play. Just to pass the time, he opens the glove compartment and finds a dusty old manual, a couple of bras, and a card that proclaims the car as property of a Mr. Nathan Ludwig, motel manager.

“Shame about the Porsche,” Ethan says when the song ends. “It was a good car.”

“Pretty good deal for Mr. Nathan Ludwig though,” Will says. “He loses his ‘Stang and gets a Porsche.” He waves the card at Ethan.

Ethan raises an eyebrow in amusement at the glimpse of bra strap he catches when he looks at the card. “Looks like Mr. Ludwig is a right old ladies’ man.”

“He’s 56,” Will says. “It’s probably his son. These are sports bras marketed for teenagers.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have a son,” Ethan says, just for the sake of passing the time. “Maybe it’s his daughter.”

“Nope,” refutes Will. “I considered that, but.” He holds up a discarded Trojan wrapper.

“You win,” concedes Ethan. “I do enjoy my daily reminders that you’re much, much smarter than I could ever hope to be.”

“Aw, you flatter me,” grins Will, tucking the bras back in and closing the glove compartment. A Rolling Stones song comes on, and Will turns the volume up again.

“Ludwig could be a pedophile,” Ethan says some time later. “It may not be his son after all.”

“Why would a teenage girl consent to sex with a man that could easily be her father?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an expert on teenagers.”

“I’m pretty sure there are plenty of people their own age these girls could have sex with instead. Also, the motel is kind of abandoned. It’s creepy. No kid’s gonna go there unless they’re exceptionally stupid, and especially not with someone so old.”

“Could be coercing her? Keeping her bras as a keepsake?”

“It's small-town America. That sort of shit won't stay hidden for long.”

“Why are we speculating on the sex lives of people we’ve never met?”

“Because we’re bored?”

“Oh, Will, you’re so smart.” Ethan grins.

“Oh shut up,” replies Will happily.

They pass through a town called Winchester some time later, and stop at a diner only so Will can go to the bathroom. While he’s in there, Ethan locates a payphone and dials Benji, keeping an eye on his watch. Three minutes.

“Ethan!” Benji sounds relieved to hear his voice. “Where are you? Jane and I’ve been _so worried_!”

“Look, Benji, we don’t have much time,” Ethan says, speaking fast. “I need you to do me a favor. Go through the surveillance tapes from Will’s office from last night, between 1:45 and 2:15 AM. It’s not Will, okay, so I need you to find out who it is. Can you do that?”

“Well, yeah, but – Ethan, are you two okay?”

“We’re fine,” Ethan answers curtly. Two minutes left. “Look, whatever you find, don’t try to call either me or Will. Tell Jane. She’ll know what to do. After that, brief Declan Gormley and Zhen Lei.”

“Okay.”

“And Benji? Plant a few red herrings and try to keep the search away from Dunmore, West Virginia.”

“Will do, Ethan. You take care.”

“You too.”

Ethan hangs up with a minute left. Will’s back from the bathroom, and through the glass windows of the diner he can see Will order something at the counter. His next call is to a cell phone number belonging to Declan Gormley.

Three minutes.

“Declan, it’s Ethan. I need your help, but I don’t have much time.”

Declan sounds strangely like he’s been expecting the call. “Is this about why I saw yours and the Chief Analyst’s faces on the news this morning?”

So the APB is out, then. “Yes. Agent Dunn will contact you in some time and explain everything. All I need you and Zhen to do is to keep your cover. Just like Rabbit’s Foot, okay?”

“What’s happened? Why is there an APB out for you?” asks Declan, immediately alert.

“Benji will explain,” Ethan replies tersely. One and a half minute. “Don’t worry though, Will and I are fine.”

“Will?”

“Yeah, he’s with me.”

“Oh, right. All right, Ethan, you take care. Zhen and I will handle it.”

“Thanks.” One minute.

“Don’t mention it. Oh, and one more thing?”

“What?”

“Lay low, okay? Don’t get caught.”

“Thanks, Declan, will do. You take care.”

“You too.”

Thirty seconds. Ethan hangs up. Will emerges from the diner carrying two coffees and two brown bags with grease spots on them.

“Brunch,” he explains. “We can’t keep running on fumes.”

“That’ll have to do till we get to another town,” Ethan tells him. “Declan says they’ve got the APB out.”

“Shit,” curses Will. “Guess we’re gonna have to hurry now.”

* * *

They switch driving duty at Augusta, after they’ve crossed the state line. The radio’s going on at low volume while Ethan catches some sleep. It’s an old Mustang and the seat doesn’t go down the way the Porsche’s seats did, so Ethan’s leaned against the window, dozing fitfully.

Will reaches out and rests a hand on Ethan’s knee, and keeps it there as he drives. He can’t even begin to fathom how many similar situations Ethan must have been in. That was different though – Ethan had managed to get through because something big had been at stake.

Now, though – he doesn’t have to. Will is perfectly aware that Ethan doesn’t have to be involved at all. This is, strictly speaking, Will’s problem. It’s his career, possibly his life, on the line. Ethan can easily walk away and claim innocence.

But he’s just not wired that way. Will smiles to himself. Ethan would rather die a thousand deaths than not help out someone who needs it. And he would go through hell a million times before abandoning someone he cares about.

He leans sideways and softly kisses Ethan’s cheek before turning his attention back to the road. Ethan doesn’t wake up, which is testament to how tired he is.

 _When all this is over,_ thinks Will, _he and I are getting into bed and sleeping for a week_.

* * *

It’s 2 in the afternoon when Will gets back on the road to Dunmore, the one they’d been originally going on. Ethan’s awake now, staring dully out the window. It’s been two hours since they were supposed to meet Luther. Uneasily he wonders what Luther’s up to, and if Interpol or IMF have caught up with him.

He’s been thinking as he drives, and it hits him suddenly. “Ethan,” he says, and Ethan jerks away from the window to look at him.

“What is it?”

“I figured out how they found us.”

Ethan’s eyes widen. “How?”

“It’s so simple, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before,” Will says rapidly. “They’d bugged the Porsche. That’s how they knew which road we took and where we stopped. No one’s followed us the past few hours because they don’t know where we are now.”

“They could just be following the road,” Ethan points out warily.

“True, but they have no way of knowing where we’re going,” Will answers.

“The bug could’ve picked up our conversations.”

“If the car had been broken into, we’d know, thanks to Benji and his high-tech burglar alarms,” Will reminds him. “The bug was on the _outside_.”

Ethan relaxes a tiny bit. “Thank God for small favors, then.”

“Yeah.” Will offers him a smile, and squeezes his hand. “We should be in Dunmore in one and a half to two hours.”

“I wonder where Luther’s at,” Ethan says. “And Benji and Jane, for that matter.”

“Probably hard at work,” Will replies. He’s feeling optimistic for the first time in hours, probably because he’s figured the bug issue out, and it makes him feel one step closer to figuring the rest out too. “We’ll be fine, Ethan, just you see.”

Ethan nods. “As soon as we figure out who the mole is, we can put a stop to all this mess.”

There’s a silence, during which Will concentrates on the road and Ethan goes back to looking out the window. Then Will asks, “Why do you think Brassel is after us, though? He knows us better than that.”

“True, but he’s got to take the chance that he might be wrong about us,” Ethan replies. “But you know what I think? I think he knows it’s not you. He trusts you. He’s just going along with it so that they can find the real mole and he can rub it in their faces that they were wrong about us.”

Will smiles at the thought. “Well, to be fair they’re not at fault, Interpol,” he says. “They don’t know us personally.”

“That’s true, I suppose,” concedes Ethan. “Want me to drive for a bit?”

“No, that’s fine. You take your rest. Do you think Luther’s still in Dunmore?”

“I’ve rested enough. Luther’s good at hiding. If he wants he can stay there for quite some time, despite the APB.”

“No, you’ve nowhere near rested enough. And that doesn’t answer my question, Ethan.”

“I have, too, rested enough. And I don’t know, Will. I’m just hoping he is.”

“Just don’t fall asleep on me. And you know what they teach every new recruit, right? _Everything that can go wrong,_ _will_ _go wrong.”_

“Yeah, but there’s no reason to believe that. Sometimes things turn out okay.”

“Yeah.” There’s another silence. Then Will says, softly, “Talk to me. Not about our situation – we’ve already discussed everything we know. Talk to me about something else.”

“What do you want to hear about?” asks Ethan. He moves away from the window and closer to Will.

Will shrugs. “I don’t know. Tell me a story. Tell me something I haven’t heard before.”

Ethan takes Will’s free hand. “Do you wanna hear about when I was in the Army?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

For the rest of the journey Ethan talks softly to Will, tells him about the bygone times when he was still naïve and idealistic, when things weren’t so complicated and the world wasn’t so hard. Will listens intently, rarely interrupting save for to ask a question or laugh at a funny comment. They don’t let go of each other’s hands.

* * *

They reach Dunmore at 4, having stopped only once along the way to switch seats. Ethan locates the motel Luther had spoken of, and parks the car in the lot. They grab the bags and walk up to Room 24, where Ethan knocks to the beat of _Smoke on the Water_.

The door opens a crack, and Luther’s eye peers out at them. “What did you tell me about Lindsey Farris during the Davian mission?” he asks suspiciously, and Ethan knows he’s got a gun pointed at them through the narrow space.

“That she was like my little sister,” he replies calmly. “It’s us, Luther.”

“How do I know that’s Will?” demands Luther.

“Trust me when I say I have my ways of knowing,” Ethan replies with a sly grin. “Take my word for it.” For good measure, he slides a hand under Will’s shirt, resting it on the small of his back. Will reddens, but goes along with it.

Luther grunts his assent. “All right, then. Come on in.” He opens the door wider and steps aside. Ethan and Will enter, after looking around carefully to see if anyone is watching.

“You’re late,” Luther says gruffly. He walks over to the small table in the kitchen and sits down, putting his gun on the tabletop. Will and Ethan dump their bags on one of the twin beds, and seat themselves – Will at the table, and Ethan on the bed.

“We were found in Strasburg,” Ethan tells Luther. “The Porsche was bugged on the outside. Interpol, we think. We took the longer route just in case.”

“Are you sure you weren’t followed?” Luther asks.

“Absolutely,” Will answers. “The car we were in was stolen. The road was deserted, no one but us. No choppers or planes overhead; we were both keeping watch.”

Luther nods. “There’s stuff in the fridge, if you’re hungry.”

“We’ve got some food,” Ethan says, but Will’s already opened the fridge door.

He makes three PB&J sandwiches, one for each of them, and when he sits down again he asks, “So what happened? Ethan’s already explained the basics to me; did you find anything new yet?”

Luther shakes his head, looking irritated at the entire scenario. “No, I didn’t. I assume you contacted your team?”

“Yes,” Ethan tells him. “And Declan and Zhen.”

“Why them?”

“This is similar to Rabbit’s Foot. I thought they could help Benji and Jane.”

Luther nods, and then sighs. “It’s definitely a shitty situation.”

“We think it’s someone from our side,” Will tells Luther, half his sandwich gone. “Someone who would have known their way around, and where my office was.”

“Did they dust for fingerprints?” asks Ethan, and takes a bite.

“They probably did, just to follow procedure, but there’s no point,” Luther replies. “The perp wore gloves. You can see it in the footage.”

Will takes a deep breath, and then lets it out slowly. “How does the perp know my password, though? I don’t get it.”

One thing Ethan knows – if Will doesn’t understand something, there’s a good chance no one else will. Except maybe Benji, but Benji’s not here right now.

“Hidden camera inside your office is the likeliest idea,” Luther suggests.

“There’s nothing in my office that could hide a camera with the lens pointing to my keyboard,” Will replies. “It’s designed that way.”

“Who else knows your password?”

“Just me. No one else. I didn’t even tell Everett or Ethan, the two likeliest candidates if I ever was going to tell someone.”

“Doesn’t your computer require biometric data along with a password?”

“Biometrics can be faked,” Ethan replies. “Not easily, but then again, whoever we’re dealing with is quite smart. They probably found a way.”

“Son of a bitch,” mutters Luther. He picks up his sandwich and begins eating grumpily.

“So what now?” asks Will. He takes three cans of soda from the fridge, throwing one to Ethan, handing one to Luther, and opening the last one for himself.

“We lay low, and wait for the team to do something, I guess,” Ethan replies. He hates this, hates being useless, hates having to sit and wait and hope for the best. He _needs_ to do something, to be constantly in motion or risk going insane.

“They’ve got no way of contacting us,” Luther reminds Ethan.

“We’ll call in every few hours, but keep it under three minutes,” Ethan decides. “And use a different number every time.”

“We could call now?” Will suggests. “I mean,” he adds, waving an arm around and nearly knocking Luther’s sandwich out of his hands, “we’ve got nothing else to do.”

“Let’s give it a few hours,” Ethan says.

“Do me a favor and get rid of the car in the meanwhile,” Luther tells them. “It’s bothering me; they can trace it here.”

Will nods and gets up. “Let’s go, Ethan.”

* * *

They return to find Luther on the phone. “Okay… you sure? All right. Okay. Thanks, kid.” He checks his watch and hangs up. “Two and a half minutes.”

“Benji?” asks Will.

Luther nods. “Sit down. We need to talk.”

Will and Ethan glance at each other, and then take seats at the table. Luther’s seated on the edge of the bed, tense and alert. “What is it?” asks Ethan. “What did Benji say?”

Luther ignores him and looks straight at Will. “What’s your clearance level?”

“Uh… the highest there is,” Will answers, nonplussed. “I’m Chief Analyst, remember?”

“And yours?” Luther asks Ethan.

“Same as Will’s,” answers Ethan. “Why?”

Luther looks from Will to Ethan, and back. “Okay, so Benji’s been doing some digging. He found the information that was leaked, but not who did it… yet. We’ve been going through everyone who has high enough security clearance to know about the mission, but not high enough to know the actual details. Most probably it’s someone from that group.”

Ethan nods, and Will asks, “So, what was the stolen data?”

“Mission details,” Luther responds. “All the practical stuff - which team was assigned where, what they would be doing... the kind of stuff that’ll make it really easy to fuck up a mission and get someone killed.”

“Shit.” Will sums it up quite eloquently. “So - what now?”

“Well, now we focus on finding out who it was,” Luther replies, “and also what mission they’re planning on fucking up.” He gives both Ethan and Will a pointed look.

Interpreting the look correctly, Ethan says, “We weren't given any mission details, actually. I don't even know if one was planned for us.” He looks at Will.

“There wasn't,” Will answers, “so whatever the perp was looking for... has to be something else. Or – the information was planted on my computer.”

“But _when_?” insists Luther.

“Well, I guess that's what we have to find out,” Will says, a determined edge to his jaw.

The three of them spend the rest of the day hunched over a sheaf of papers, scrawling notes and theories on it and scribbling down flowcharts, trying to figure out something, anything. Benji reports nothing new. Declan says he might be on to something but he isn't sure yet.

“We're getting out of here first thing tomorrow morning,” Luther says as they prepare for bed. He settles himself in one of the beds and kicks his shoes off. “Can't stay for too long, someone's bound to come looking.”

Ethan and Will manage to squeeze together in the second bed, taking care not to accidentally shove the other one off. Finally they settle in a comfortable position. “Night,” Will whispers with a yawn, and pulls the covers to his side.

Ethan tugs a little bit until the covers are evenly over them both, and then replies, “'Night, Will. Don't worry, we'll find whoever it was.”

But Will's already asleep.

* * *

“I hate this,” states Luther the next morning, in the car. He's driving, with Ethan up front with him and Will stretched out in the back, scrawling notes. “I hate just running and waiting for someone else to do something.”

“Join the club,” mutters Will, and scratches something off.

“When do we call Benji?”

“In an hour or so. Around ten-ish.”

“I'm hungry,” Ethan remarks. Will hands him a packet of potato chips and puts his notes aside, leaning forward.

“It's been enough time,” he says. “Benji's bound to have come up with something. And Jane, Declan and Zhen aren't the kind of people to sit around, either.”

“Your optimism inspires me,” says Luther drily.

“He's not wrong, though,” Ethan says consolingly.

“Either way, if there's nothing else to be done I'm marching back to DC and kicking some ass until we've got this shit cleared,” declares Luther.

“Count me in,” says Will, and snatches some chips from Ethan's fingers.

* * *

He calls Declan from a payphone in the next town they stop at. “I've found out how they got into your computer,” Declan tells him, and immediately Will perks up.

“How?”

“Tracked your keystrokes,” Declan says. “It wasn't a software. Really simple, actually – whoever it was just put invisible ink over the keys, and later looked over to see what keys were disturbed.”

“But I type a lot,” Will says, nonplussed. “How could the perp possibly know–”

“You also lock and unlock your computer a lot,” Declan interrupts. “Whenever you leave the office for so much as a bathroom break, actually. All the perp had to do was look and see which keys showed most signs of disturbance.”

“That... wow. I feel like an idiot,” comments Will, frowning.

“We all do,” Declan tells him. “Now look – this person was obviously smart enough to find a way into your computer, virtually undetected, with a method that would not only get him the password, but would also get him your fingerprints. Voice data isn't hard to fake. Whoever it is definitely knows what they're doing. I think we might actually be underestimating them, to be honest.”

“I know what you mean,” sighs Will. “I'm on it.”

“Okay. Take care.” Declan hangs up. Will waits a minute or so, and then dials Benji.

“Declan's figured out how the perp got into my computer,” he tells his friend.

“Yeah I know, he and Zhen had some fun with your office this morning,” Benji informs him. “Jane's working with intel right now, they're looking into the stolen files and mission details. Everett's an idiot, keeps insisting the missions must go on, and frankly, I'm worried. I'm going over the security tapes right now, _again_. But you know something funny, Will?”

“Yeah?”

“I've checked the logs and... no one logged in or out, you know? Except Luther, but he was only there for work. It's all on the cameras. So I checked backwards and no one logs in at that time. Whoever it was is probably someone who's got a habit of staying late at night for work, sometimes overnight. There are no log out times.”

“That's... interesting,” murmurs Will. “Did you check if there's anyone who doesn't log in, in the mornings?”

There's the sound of typing, and then Benji says, “Everyone logs in.”

“Who _doesn't_ log out?”

Some more typing. “That's... weird,” Benji says a second later, sounding perplexed. “According to this, every employee who's on your floor logs in and out at the correct times. The office should be empty at that time of night.”

“So whoever it was wasn't supposed to be there,” summarizes Will, sighing in frustration. They're right back where they started.

“Obviously,” mutters Benji. “Camera's been looped, security tampered with, information stolen – and we got no bloody idea about anything.”

It's getting dangerously close to three minutes, so Will utters a hasty goodbye and hangs up. He meets Luther and Ethan back at the car, and updates them on the information as they drive out of town.

“Okay, let's go through what we know,” Luther says from the backseat when Will's done. “It's an inside job, done by someone who knows what they're doing, but more importantly, knows their way around Will's floor. So it's someone from intel.”

“Yeah,” Ethan confirms. “They've somehow managed to get into Will's office undetected, steal data and make it look like it was him. That means it's someone whose body type is similar to Will's.”

“That could be _any_ number of agents!” Will argues. “Seriously, we're right back where we started, we're no closer to – wait.”

“What?” ask Luther and Ethan simultaneously.

“Benji said whoever it was probably has a habit of working late,” Will says slowly, realization dawning on him. “To my knowledge, only a couple of people stay _really_ late. Director Brassel... and Fritz Everett.”

“You think it might be Everett?” asks Luther skeptically. “I mean, I know the man's an asshole, but–”

“No, think about it!” Will interjects, turning around to look at Luther. “He was practically a nobody before he became Secretary. Right before the entire Moscow fiasco, he started to rear his ugly head, get closer to the previous Secretary. Suddenly his name was on all the intel reports, you know? Especially those dealing with terrorist organizations. He's the one who suggested the team-up with Interpol, which I know makes it look unlikely that he'd sabotage it, but – that's why he's insisting the missions have to go on! And if they go to hell because of bad intel, he can always turn around and blame it on me. And they _will_ go to hell, let me tell you. Like, people will _die_.” All of a sudden, it makes sense.

Luther still looks skeptical. “Are you sure? Because if we turn around, barge into DC and claim the Secretary did all of this, and we turn out to be wrong – well, I'm not as smart as you but even I could tell you it won't end well.”

“I _know_ ,” Will says emphatically, “and trust me, I wouldn't have followed the thought if it didn't make sense.”

“But why would Everett do all of this?” questions Ethan, not taking his eyes off the road.

“I don't know, why do psychos do anything?” answers Will. “He's probably in with the terrorists, got a share in the loot maybe? I dunno. Probably they're paying him off to ensure they're safe. Maybe he wasn't always in with them, maybe he got corrupted. A criminal past wouldn't have slipped past IMF's best, though, so it's probably a recent thing. Maybe they're threatening him. I don't know. But whatever it is – he's got the means, and the motive if we can find it.”

“How do you propose we find it?” asks Luther, though from his expression it's obvious he already knows what the answer's going to be.

“We go back to DC.” Ethan's jaw is squared and there is a determined look back in his eyes. He takes the next U-turn, and they don't look back.

* * *

Ethan calls Jane in the evening and updates her on what they've come up with. “Listen, you need to get into Everett's apartment,” he tells her. “Find anything you can that may help. Old records, bank details, his hard drive... _any_ thing. He's probably made it a bit harder than that to find his details, but it's worth a try.”

“Got it,” she tells him. “I'll take Zhen with me.”

“Good, put Declan on getaway,” Ethan instructs. “Keep Benji on stand-by, and the minute you find anything that can be traced digitally, you pass it on to him. Stay safe, and don't get caught. I'll call you around two in the morning for an update.”

“Will do,” she promises, and hangs up.

“I really hope this isn't a dead end, or worse, a trap,” mutters Luther.

Will punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Relax,” he tells him. “Whatever it is, it's _something_.”

Luther glowers and doesn't answer.

* * *

Luther and Will are both asleep when Ethan calls Jane, Luther snoring in the backseat and Will slumped against the front passenger side's window. Ethan takes care to keep his voice low and not disturb either of them. “What's the update?”

“I didn't find any hard copies that could be construed as suspicious, but there wasn't enough time to go through his computer. He has a _lot_ of files. So Zhen copied everything from his hard drive into a flash disk, and we planted a bug that'll pick up everything he says and send it to Benji. Got out clean, nothing to worry about.”

Ethan lets out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. “Glad to hear that,” he tells her, relieved. “Okay, now you guys lay low, all right? You're probably under suspicion just because you're connected to us. If anyone at HQ catches wind of what you're up to, things could get really bad. Get Benji to monitor Everett carefully, and the rest of you try to keep an eye on him in the office.”

“All right, Team Leader,” Jane replies, and he can hear her smile. “You three take care too, okay?”

“Will do,” he promises. “Say hi to everyone from me.”

“Yeah, do the same for me. Bye, Ethan.”

“Take care, Jane.”

He puts his phone down. Will stirs a little, and for a moment it looks like he's going to wake, but then he settles again and stops moving. In the backseat, Luther snores away.

Ethan checks the map with one hand still on the steering wheel. It'll take until mid-morning for them to get to DC, provided they drive all night. He's taken over from Luther, and it'll be Will's turn to drive in a couple of hours. Ethan can feel tiredness creeping on, but he pushes it away, locks it up in the back of his mind. He's gone without sleep for longer, and he's not going to let some measly exhaustion fuck this up for them.

He turns on the radio on low. He doesn't know what song is playing, but it's mostly guitar and piano and it sounds good. He listens to it until it ends, and is expecting something just as nice to play next, but the next song starts off with a blaring guitar solo and Will and Luther start awake.

“What the fuck was that?” bellows Luther once he's made sure there's no threat. He puts his gun back under the seat where he'd stowed it just in case. “I nearly took your boyfriend's head off!”

“Sorry,” Ethan says with a sheepish grin. “It's just the radio, go back to sleep.”

“Do a damn fool thing like that again, and I _will_ shoot you,” warns Luther, and lies back down. In a few minutes he's snoring again.

“You okay to drive?” Will asks once Luther's settled.

“I'm fine, yeah,” Ethan answers him. “Sorry about that, by the way. Radio.”

“It's all right,” Will says, and then yawns.

“Go back to sleep, you're obviously tired,” Ethan tells him. “I'll wake you up when it's your turn.”

“Yeah, 'kay,” Will says, and shifts until he's comfortable again. He glances at the radio displaying the time, and asks, “You talked to Jane?”

“Yeah, I did,” Ethan says, and summarizes everything she'd said. “If Everett so much as takes a shit, we'll know,” he finishes.

Will makes a face. “Not sure I want to know that.”

Ethan laughs.

“Hey,” Will says a moment later, when the light-hearted moment has passed. “You – you don't think we're on the wrong track with Everett, do you?”

“No, I don't,” Ethan assures him. “Why the self-doubt, Will? Do _you_ think we're on the wrong track?”

“No,” Will says. “I just want all of this to be over, and I don't feel up to any more surprises.”

Ethan grins. “I know how that feels. When all this is over I'm just–”

“Getting in bed and sleeping forever,” completes Will. “Me too. Just after I punch whoever's responsible for putting us through this shit.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Ethan replies fervently, grin widening. “Let's just hope Benji finds something, and we can put an end to all this shit.”

Will nods, and yawns again. “Yeah,” he says, tone becoming sleepy. “Look – you wake me up when it's my turn, okay?”

“Will do,” Ethan promises. “Get some rest, now. I have a feeling we'll need it.”

* * *

They roll into DC with the mid-morning sun shining into their eyes. Luther grumbles something about packing sunglasses next time, and Ethan quips back at him. Will adds a comment, and the light-hearted banter continues hiding the fact that they're all a little nervous but mostly determined, steeling themselves for what's to come.

“Okay, what now?” Luther asks presently.

“We're going to hide out at Benji's,” Will replies. “They'll be watching the place, but I think we can get in and out if we're careful. Benji says they've got a couple of newbies on his place. Over there we'll go over whatever data he's got on Everett, and decide on a course of action then.”

“Great, more lying low,” mutters Luther.

“Better than being arrested and jailed forever,” points out Ethan.

The rest of the half-hour drive to Benji's is silent. They get caught in traffic for a while, but Will manages to take a side road that cuts down their ETA considerably.

Getting up to Benji's apartment without being noticed by the IMF agents stationed there is a piece of cake. Literally all they have to do is distract them – Ethan pays off a woman to scream burglary and tells her it's for a prank on a friend. Both agents run off to help her at once, and Luther and Will sneak in with Ethan right on their heals.

“Idiots,” scoffs Luther. “I'm gonna be talking to Brassel about the fools he's got masquerading as agents.”

“You do that,” Ethan mutters, as Will knocks on Benji's door.

“Who is it?” yells Benji from inside.

“It's us!” Will yells back. “Open the door, Benji!”

The door opens a crack and a blue eye peeks out. “How do I know it's you?” he asks suspiciously.

“I jumped into _an oven, essentially_ based on nothing but your word that I wouldn't be cut to ribbons and toasted,” Will says deadpan, leveling a flat look at Benji.

“Right, okay. Ethan?” The little shit doesn't even try to hide his grin.

“You helped me with Julia in China.”

“Luther?”

“You wouldn't stop ranting about how _The Last of Us_ destroyed your life,” Luther tells him. “When I told you not to get emotional over a game, you actually started crying.”

Benji colors a little and mutters “I did _not_ ”, but he opens the door and lets them through. The minute Will's inside he finds himself crushed into a tight hug. “I missed you!” Benji exclaims, then moves to bestow the same bone-cracking embrace on Ethan.

“It has literally been just a couple of days,” Will tells him, but he's smiling. “How've you been?”

“Absolutely miserable,” reports Benji, letting go of Ethan. He moves towards Luther, who immediately escapes into the bathroom. “He thinks he'll be safe there, but he won't,” remarks Benji, and then continues, “I've spent the last two days living on Red Bull and Doritos, and no one understands my pain about _The Last of Us_. You're the only one who did, and you weren't there.”

“They just don't know,” consoles Will. “When all this is over, I will sleep for a thousand years and when I wake up we can have a marathon.”

“Fuck yeah we will,” Benji declares. “I need to get that game out of my system. It's ruining me. This isn't even funny anymore. I finished it while you were gone, by the way.”

Will almost drops the glass of water he's just gotten himself. “You did?”

“Yeah,” nods Benji. “Did you know Joel–”

“Shut up,” interjects Will. “No spoilers. Don't you say a damn word, Benji, or I will _end_ you.”

Luther chooses that moment to exit the bathroom, and is immediately hugged by Benji. “Why,” he grumbles, even as he gingerly pats Benji's back.

“He likes hugging,” offers Ethan, trying and failing to suppress his laughter.

Benji lets go when Luther starts threatening bloody murder, and they settle in the living-room. “It feels so good to have an actual couch under my butt,” sighs Will happily, lying down and promptly placing his feet into Ethan's lap.

“Your feet smell,” Ethan complains, and gets a toe in the nostril for his trouble.

“Cute,” mutters Luther. “Let's talk about the important shit, shall we? Then we can move on to Will's toes.”

“Which don't smell,” Will adds.

“Whatever, kid. Benji, what've you got?”

“A lot, actually,” Benji says. He waits until he's got everyone's attention, and then says, “It's a _lot._ I'll just tell everyone together, okay? Jane, Zhen and Declan should be here soon. Why don't you people get something to eat in the meanwhile?”

“Good idea,” Ethan says and gets up, Will's feet falling out of his lap. He heads over to the fridge and opens it, rummaging for something to make breakfast with. Will gets up too, and heads for the cabinets.

“There's no coffee,” he says some moments later, nonplussed.

“I don't like the taste,” Benji says. “There's a lot of tea, though, if you want it.”

“Tea won't do much for my caffeine withdrawal,” Will complains.

“Well, it's all I've got, so deal with it,” shrugs Benji. He pulls his laptop towards himself and opens the lid, clacking madly at the keys a second later.

“You've gone without coffee for all this while, just wait some more,” Ethan suggests, emerging from the fridge holding three eggs and a loaf of bread.

“You disappoint me,” Will tells Benji, but there's no sting to the words. Benji just smiles sweetly at him and goes back to his typing.

Luther sidles in next to him. “What are you doing?” he asks curiously.

“Oh – preparing a slideshow,” Benji tells him. “It'll be easier to get the information across that way.”

“I see,” replies Luther, raising an eyebrow. “And what, we're all going to crowd around your computer to see it?”

“'Course not, I've got HDMI,” dismisses Benji, pointing to the TV. “We'll watch it on that.”

“I know what HDMI is,” Luther says redundantly, but Benji's not paying attention anymore.

* * *

Benji's phone rings just as Ethan, Will and Luther finish up their breakfast. “Hello,” he says, and then, “What, _really_? Come on – are you sure? Okay then. Be careful.”

“That was Jane,” he reports, hanging up. “Everett's got them all wrapped in paperwork. He's not letting them leave the office, they won't be here until after 5.”

“What do we do in the meanwhile, then?” asks Will.

“And why's Everett asking _them_ to do paperwork?” adds Ethan.

“Well, he's the Secretary, isn't he? He probably just dumped a shitton of mission overviews on them and asked them to look through,” Benji reasons.

“Great,” groans Luther. “So we're stuck here for a few hours.”

“Well, I'm going to bed,” declares Ethan. “Don't you dare wake me if it's not an emergency.” He dumps the plates in the sink and stretches. “Will, you coming?”

“What – yeah,” Will says, following Ethan to Benji's guest room. Behind them he can hear Benji ask “Wanna play _Call of Duty_?” and Luther answer “Hell no, _Need for Speed_.”

“They're gonna be occupied, looks like,” he comments, and Ethan grins.

“Yeah, good for them. It'll get Luther's mind off things.”

Benji's guest room is rarely ever used, and so they have to dust everything down. Will finds a drawer full of sheets and starts stripping the bed while Ethan replaces the pillowcases with cleaner ones.

“I can't believe we have to work just for some sleep,” Will grouches, spreading the sheet on the bed. He starts tucking in the corners on one side while Ethan does the other.

“Such is life,” Ethan says with a dramatic sigh, then offers Will a smile. “Still – it's a proper, clean bed and we have a good few hours until we have to be awake. Let's just make the most of it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” concedes Will. They change the comforter's cover in silence, and then Will kicks off his shoes, toes off his socks and gets rid of his pants. “If you hog the sheets I will kill you.”

“Gee, thanks, good to know how much you care,” snarks Ethan as he places his shoes and socks neatly to one side, and folds his pants. “And do something about your feet.”

“They're not cold,” protests Will, getting into bed.

“No, they're sweaty,” Ethan says. “Which is gross.” He gets into the other side.

Will digs his toes into Ethan's calf. “They're not sweaty, they're perfectly fine,” he says.

“Get your feet off me,” Ethan mumbles, even as he turns on his side and throws one leg across both of Will's.

“Rude,” comments Will, and pokes Ethan's side.

“Stop poking me and go to sleep.”

“ _You_ go to sleep,” Will replies maturely, but wriggles as close as he possibly can without throwing Ethan off the bed anyway. Within minutes they're both asleep.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No feedback = sad Remy = late update.
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x


	15. We'll Go, and We'll Go and We'll Go, Let's Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benji's time to shine arrives, when he discovers a lot of "important information", as he keeps telling the team. Some pizza, ice cream and a slideshow later, they all go on a mission to finish this shit once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, last 10K. I worked really hard on this, so I really hope you like it <333
> 
> ~~ffs i made a slideshow, screencapped it and uploaded it online just for this chapter~~

They're woken by Benji turning the lights on. “The girls and Declan are here,” he announces by way of greeting when they blink groggily at him in the sudden light. “You have five minutes to get decent before Jane marches in here herself.”

“Got it,” mumbles Will, and extricates himself from Ethan. He pulls his pants on but doesn't bother with socks and shoes, and runs a hand through his hair. “I'm starving,” he comments, running his hands down his shirt in a vain attempt to smoothen out the wrinkles.

“We'll get Benji to order something,” Ethan says, straightening out his own clothes and trying to comb his hair with his fingers. It doesn't work; his head looks like a shaggy brown mop.

“You look hilarious,” Will says, and grins. Nothing like pulling Ethan's leg just for the fun of it.

“Yeah, you're no better yourself,” Ethan teases back. He too decides to forego socks and shoes, and together they head out into the living-room.

Jane's welcome is much less exuberant than Benji's, though just as warm. She hugs them both, then stands aside as Zhen does the same. Declan bumps fists with Will and claps Ethan on the shoulder, and then they all settle down on the sofas. Luther's taken up the double-seater for himself, stretched out with his legs dangling over the edge. Zhen, Declan and Jane are on the triple-seater, and Benji on one of the single-seaters. Ethan takes the other one and Will sits down by his feet, leaning back against his legs.

“I've got a _lot_ of data,” Benji tells them, looking quite proud of himself. “I've put it all in a PowerPoint. If anyone has questions, raise your hand.”

Immediately Will's hand is in the air. “I haven't even begun!” Benji says incredulously.

“Yeah. I'm hungry,” Will tells him. Benji rolls his eyes, but pulls out his cell phone and orders pizza anyway.

“Anything else?” he asks sardonically when he hangs up.

“You haven't got any ice cream, have you?” Zhen asks.

“Why do you want ice cream?” Benji questions.

She shrugs. “Just a craving.”

He sighs in resignation. “It's in the freezer.” She grins brightly at him and gets it, digging in with a spoon without bothering to offer it to anyone.

“Anything else?” Benji sighs. When no one answers, he says emphatically, “ _Good_ ,” and plugs his computer into his TV.

The first slide comes on.

“This is your slideshow?” asks Luther incredulously.

“It's in _comic sans_ ,” Will states in disbelief.

“You are missing the point,” Benji tells them defensively. “And I told you not to talk. Don't question me.”

“Sorry,” Will says with a snort, and Benji glowers at him before tapping a key.

“Okay, what is this important information?” asks Ethan impatiently. “You've been talking about it but not really telling us anything, Benji.”

“Patience, grasshopper,” says Benji brightly. “We're getting to it.”

“This here's a nice concise round-up of what we've got so far,” Benji says. “Basically all the information we've gathered over the past couple of days, from our own methods and from Luther, Will and Ethan.”

He clicks again.

“We are _not_ lovebirds,” begins Ethan, but Benji cuts him off.

“I said no talking, Ethan,” he reprimands. “And yes, you totally are.”

Will opens his mouth to talk, but shuts it again when Benji shoots him a look. Meanwhile Zhen is happily spooning up ice cream like she'll never get to have any. Declan looks bored, and Jane and Luther are just staring at the TV screen in some semblance of disbelief and incredulity. Will leans into Ethan's legs and tilts his head back, his stomach grumbling. Ethan smiles sympathetically down at him, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Oh, yes, _totally_ not lovebirds,” says Benji sarcastically. “Anyway – moving on.”

“Wait, hang on,” Ethan says, suddenly coming to attention. “So you've actually heard all of this?”

“Yes, I did,” Benji answers quite proudly.

“And you have proof?” queries Ethan.

“Wait for it,” Benji says mysteriously, and changes the slide.

“Damn straight it's shady as fuck,” Declan says, at the same time that Will lets out an exclamation.

“That bloody son of a bitch! I can't believe he's pulling all this shit and framing me for it!”

“We'll get back at him,” vows Jane. “He's not getting away with this, Will.”

“Well, fuck.” Luther sums it up aptly. “They're screwed, then, aren't they?”

“We've got to stop them from leaving,” says Zhen, finally looking up from her ice cream and revealing she's been paying attention all along. She puts the now-empty tub of ice cream aside and frowns at the TV. “How, though? We can't just barge in there and tell them to stop.”

“We need to figure out a plan of action,” says Ethan. “Benji, go on – we'll discuss a plan when you're done.”

“Okay, so basically it's just for the gold that Everett seems to be doing all this,” Benji explains. “I haven't really heard him talk about anything else. Money and gold and that's it. But just because he hasn't mentioned an ulterior motive doesn't mean there isn't one. We just have to find out what it is.”

“Easier said than done,” mutters Jane darkly.

“But IMF already pays him a shitton,” points out Will. “So the gold and the money can't be the only reason. There's bound to be something else.”

“Undermining the IMF?” guesses Ethan. “If the mission goes to shit it'll make us look bad, and Interpol will point fingers. We'll be the laughingstock of the intelligence community.”

“I'm getting to it,” Benji says, and changes the slide.

“Ah, so I was right,” says Ethan. “He's going to make our connections with Interpol go to shit.”

“Which will piss off the CIA,” adds Will. “And that's not going to be a good thing.”

“If it gets too bad, we could all be disavowed,” Declan points out, worried. “The entire IMF. And unlike how it was with Ghost Protocol, we don't get to get back together.”

“Best-case scenario, we'll be assimilated into the CIA,” Jane points out. “But yeah, if it goes _really_ bad, we'll be disavowed for sure.”

“It looks like Everett's got the entire shebang planned out, though,” Luther says. “Already got himself a place and booked tickets. He must be pretty sure about this.”

“I wonder how long he's been planning it for?” questions Zhen. “It must be quite some time. Maybe he even helped set up these Vikings.”

“That's a possibility,” says Will, pondering. “Anyway, we'll think about all that later. Let's hope we catch him, and when we do we can always ask him.”

“After we beat the shit out of him,” says Ethan darkly. “Look at this. He's the _Secretary_. Forget inter-agency strife, how's it gonna look when our Secretary is discovered to have sold us out?”

“Pretty bad,” Benji replies, somewhat unnecessarily.

“9 AM?” exclaims Luther. “Benji, it's already 6 PM. Why are you telling us all this now?”

“It's not like I had a choice! Everett wouldn't let them leave!” Benji replies defensively, gesturing towards Jane, Zhen and Declan. “Anyway, we can still do this. We just need to hurry, is all.”

“By 'getting rid of Brassel', you mean he's going to try to kill him?” questions Declan.

“Yeah,” Benji says, the corners of his mouth going down. “I'm telling you, guys, this shit's more convoluted than we thought. And we only have a few hours to finish this, so let's get going, shall we?”

“Just hurry up, Benji,” Ethan says tensely. Will can feel his entire body coiled up, wound tight, and he knows the addition of a deadline is weighing heavy on Ethan's shoulders. It's got him worried too, and he can see his anxiety reflected on his companions' faces as well. Even Benji doesn't seem so gung-ho anymore – he's tapping his nails restlessly on his laptop and playing with the cursor like he just can't sit still.

“Wow, easier said than done,” mutters Jane.

“There is a lot weighing in on this,” Ethan says, once the slideshow is over with. Benji doesn't shut off his computer, leaving the last slide on. It carries with it a strange air of finality, and Will doesn't like it one bit at all.

“How do we do this?” asks Zhen. They all look up expectantly at Ethan.

He exhales, and then puts on a determined expression. “We go to Brassel's place with the flash drive and show it to him. We try to warn him. Benji – did you record everything you heard through the bug?”

Benji nods. “Every word.”

“What if he doesn't believe us?” asks Declan.

“He's bound to,” Luther replies firmly. “We've got all the proof we need to back up our claims, all on that flash drive. We just need to get Brassel to look at it before Everett arrives to finish him off.”

“I doubt Everett will come, actually,” Benji interjects. “It sounded a lot like he's planning on sending someone to do his dirty work for him. Meanwhile he's going to lay low and wait for everything to go to shit. Not at his apartment, I think. Probably a hotel room, or somewhere no one will think to look for him.”

“So we find him,” Jane decides. “We'll need to split up, this means.”

Ethan nods at her. “Will?” he says. “What do you think?”

“She's right,” Will says. “There are seven of us. You, me and Luther can go talk to Brassel, since we're the ones who're supposed to be the bad guys. We're the ones who'll need to convince him of our innocence. The rest of you will need to find Everett and bring him in.”

“Or take him out, if necessary,” Ethan says. “We've got all the proof we need. All we can get from him at this point is a motive. Which isn't that necessary in the grand scheme of things. If Brassel believes us, we don't need Everett alive.”

“And afterwards, we'll need to go finish off these Vikings as well,” Benji says. “Though I suppose we can leave that to Brassel.”

“Let's cross that bridge when we come to it,” Ethan says, and stands. “We don't have much time, everybody. Let's get going.”

* * *

Once again, getting past the noobs “watching” Benji's building is a piece of cake. All they do is take the fire exits, after making sure the one guarding the back is distracted. Luther leaves first, and Will and Ethan follow five minutes later, piling into the car he's acquired by probably illegal means. Jane, Declan, Zhen and Benji will leave soon as well, separately.

Will's got Benji's flash drive in his pocket, and he keeps patting it to make sure it's still there. The worst thing in the world would be reaching Brassel's and realizing it fell out or something. Everything they've got is on it.

Luther drives as fast as he can without causing a thousand-vehicle pile-up, with Ethan and Will buckled in and hanging on to the handlebar above the window for dear life. Luther pays them no mind, not even when Ethan's cursing goes from under his breath to all-out yelling.

“You're going to get us killed!” he shouts at one point.

“Now you know how we feel when we're listening to your crazy plans!” Will yells at him, grinning.

“Really, you're going to fight about that _now_? And besides, my plans all work, don't they?” Ethan argues back.

“Kid's got a point,” Luther says calmly from where he's making a hard left onto a side street. Will and Ethan nearly slam into the right side of the car.

Ethan flips Luther off. Will laughs, but it's cut short when Luther makes a right and he's jerked sharply to the left. He makes a mental note to look up the validity of Luther's driving license later.

“We're here,” Luther says just a second later.

“Thank God,” says Ethan reverently, and unbuckles himself. Will does the same, opening the door and getting out on shaky legs.

He checks his watch. “It's half past seven,” he says. “We need to hurry.”

Ethan nods briskly at him. Luther's parked a street away from Brassel's house, and they set off at a jog into the cool night air. Nobody talks.

Brassel lives in a fancy gated community, the kind where everyone is quite happy not to ever come face-to-face with each other unless there's an event. He lives with his wife and teenage son. His daughter studies architecture in UCLA. Will knows this from office small talk.

They reach Brassel's gate at fifteen to eight. As expected, there's a speaker on the wall. Will presses a button, and they hear a reverberating buzz echo throughout the grounds beyond. A second later, a crisp voice asks, “Who is it?”

Ethan takes a deep breath, steps forward and says, “Sir, it's us. Will Brandt, Ethan Hunt and Luther Stickell.”

There is a long pause, and Will begins to fear that Brassel's calling for reinforcements, or worse, for someone to come arrest them. Then the speaker crackles, and Brassel says, “You three got some nerve coming here. Are you not aware of the manhunt for you?”

“We're aware, sir,” Will says. “And we need to talk to you. It's urgent.”

“Let me guess,” Brassel says drily. “You're here to convince me of your innocence.”

Ethan wastes no time. “And we've got information, sir. We know who's behind all of this, and it isn't Will. Sir, if you don't let us in and listen to what we've got to say, people will die. I can promise you this.”

There is another pause. Will, Ethan and Luther share a worried glance. Then the huge wrought-iron gate swings open. “Make it fast,” Brassel says over the intercom, and then there's silence.

They jog into the grounds, going up the brick path leading through the well-manicured lawn. “He's got himself some fancy digs,” mutters Will, looking around, taking everything in (especially possible escape routes). A sideways glance reveals Ethan and Luther doing the same.

It takes them five minutes to get from the gate to Brassel's front door. Ethan's just raised his hand to knock when the oakwood door swings open, and Brassel glowers at them. He holds up a retinal scanner. “Identify yourselves.”

Ethan's the closest, so he goes first, putting his face to the scanner. There is a pause and a _beep_ , and then, “Agent identified. Welcome, Agent Hunt.”

Will goes next. Pause, _beep._ “Agent identified. Welcome, Agent Brandt.”

Then Luther. Pause, _beep_. “Agent identified. Welcome, Agent Stickell.”

Brassel nods, and opens the door wider. “Come in.” They oblige, and he leads them through a beautiful atrium, past a winding staircase and through another set of oakwood doors to what looks like a living-room. It's _huge_ , with plush sofas set along one side, and a minibar next to them. There are giant paintings on the walls, and an actual fireplace in one wall. Brassel gestures towards the sofas. “Have a seat, agents.”

Luther sits down on a single-seater, and Will and Ethan seat themselves at the ends of a triple-seater. Brassel sits down facing them, and asks, ever so hospitably like they're here for a casual visit, “Tea? Coffee? Anything?”

“No thanks, we're good,” Luther says. “We don't have much time, sir, so we better get to talking.”

Brassel regards them all very carefully, and then nods. “Okay. Talk.”

Within five minutes Will summarizes everything they've learned, with Ethan and Luther corroborating. Throughout it all the Director of the IMF listens intently, watching Will speak with rapt attention. When they're done he takes a deep breath, and says, “Agents, this is a very serious allegation you're making. You know I cannot believe any of this without any proof.”

“We have proof,” Ethan says, and Will retrieves the flash drive from his pocket and hands it to Brassel. “Look through it, sir, it's got everything you need to back up what we just told you. It's the Secretary, sir.”

“How do you know you're not wrong?” questions Brassel.

“We've worked very hard on this, sir,” Will tells him. “Agents Dunn, Carter, Lei and Gormley have been working with us on this. We know it's against protocol and that they were not authorized, but we had no choice. We were – are – being hunted, sir. Ethan and I were tracked down by Interpol agents in Strasburg.”

Brassel narrows his eyes at all three of them, and then pulls out a laptop from under the mahogany coffee table. He pushes open the lid and types in his password, puts his thumb over the biometric scanner, and then plugs the USB in. Will exchanges a glance with Ethan – it all hinges on this data now.

There are a few minutes of silence as Brassel looks through it, his frown deepening as the time passes. Will watches him closely, trying to see if he can gauge anything from Brassel's expressions, but the Director keeps his face carefully blank save for the frown. Not even micro-expressions. Will's actually kind of impressed – it's not everyday someone can shield themselves from his analytic gaze.

Finally Brassel unplugs the USB, pockets it and closes the laptop lid. “If all this is true,” he begins, “then this is a very serious matter.”

“It's true,” Luther assures him. “Benji – Agent Dunn – traced the emails to Ireland, the location of this terrorist group. And the location of the mission that's set to begin tomorrow morning at 9 AM.”

“If you don't stop that team from leaving, sir, they will all die,” Ethan says. “The gold will vanish into thin air, and we will be in hot water with both Interpol and the CIA.”

Brassel doesn't reply. It's obvious that he's thinking long and hard. Another minute passes, and then he says, “Okay. So you say that Everett – who stole Brandt's identity and his data – is going to send a man to  _ kill _ me? What will that accomplish?” To his credit, he doesn't look fazed by this piece of information at all. Will figures that as Director he's probably dealt with threats to his life before.

“Sir, you're the only one who can stop him,” Luther answers. “He's got to get you out of the way if he wants to escape unhindered.”

“The thing is,” Will adds, “once the first mission fails you'll obviously keep a closer eye on the intel department. Which naturally also means Everett. This would deter his plans to get away and to foil any more missions.”

Brassel takes that in, and nods. “Makes sense. So – Agents Hunt, Brandt and Stickell. What do you propose I do now?”

“If that information is correct – and I would bet my life that it is,” Ethan adds, “then someone will be here soon to make an attempt on your life. We deal with that, and then you need to cancel tomorrow's mission.”

“Contact Dublin and make up an excuse,” Will says. “Send trained agents and debrief them. Let them know they're dealing with a terrorist organization. Once the mission is complete and we've got the Vikings apprehended, we can talk to Everett.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” inquires Brassel, raising an eyebrow. “Once I cancel the mission he'll know that I know, and he'll run.”

“Agents Dunn, Carter, Lei and Gormley are on his tail as we speak,” Luther replies. “They'll track him down and apprehend him – take him in by force if required. We can question him then.”

Brassel exhales. “You've really thought all of this out, haven't you?” he questions rhetorically. They all nod. “All right, then, agents. I will do as you say.”

Suddenly an alarm blares out, and Brassel's eyes widen. “He's here,” he says shortly, and then yells, “GET DOWN!”

Instinctively Will obeys, crouching behind the sofa and making sure Ethan and Luther are with him. Brassel's behind the other sofa. A shot rings out and he hears the windows shatter. A second later there is another shot and a crunching of glass that indicates that a fifth person is now in the room with them.

Will peeks over the side of the sofa and sees a pair of black boots approaching. He looks up, taking care not to be seen. The assassin is tall, six and a half feet maybe, and is dressed all in black, muscles bulging through his shirt. He's carrying a Colt with a fitted silencer, and a knife glints in his belt. His face is covered with a black ski mask.

“I've got him,” mouths Ethan. Before Will can stop him he runs out from behind the sofa and pounces, landing on the man's back and locking his arms around his neck. The gun goes off once, twice, both bullets way off aim and embedding themselves in the wall. Will doesn't waste time ruing Ethan's stupid impulsive recklessness – he takes his opportunity and comes at the assassin from the front, wrestling his gun away from him.

Ethan's tightening his hold steadily and the man's face – whatever is visible through the mask – is growing redder by the second. He gives up the gun easily and his hands fly to his throat, attempting to pry Ethan's arms off. When that doesn't work he stumbles backwards into the wall, trying to crush Ethan between it and himself.

“Oh no you don't,” roars Luther, loud enough to be heard over the blaring of the alarm, and he charges, pulling the man away from the wall and punching him in the face. Ethan leaps off his back just as he crumples. Luther hits him again for good measure, and then yells over the alarm, “There are going to be more!”

As if on cue, a second and third man, both dressed similarly, leap in through the broken windows. At the same time the door to the room bursts open and a woman runs in, calling, “I heard the alarm, Theo, what's going on–”

She stops abruptly when she sees the state of disarray the room is in, as well as the three men in black. “ANNA, GO BACK!” bellows Brassel, pulling out a gun and aiming at one of the newcomers. He dives behind the sofa just as the newcomer shoots, and continues, “TAKE ERIC AND HIDE, ANNA! DON'T COME OUT UNTIL THE ALARMS STOP!”

She nods, frightened, and runs back out before someone can shoot her. Brassel manages to get a hit, and one of the newcomers falls to the floor in a spray of blood and brains. Will uses the momentary lull to kick at the third and last one, causing him to drop his gun. He pulls out his knife, but Luther snatches that away from behind, ducking out of the way as the man whirls and tries to punch him.

He's outnumbered and overpowered, though, and within half a minute Will has him flat on the bloodstained carpet, unconscious. He gets to his feet, panting – and immediately his gaze zeroes in on Ethan, on his knees with his left hand clutching his right shoulder. “Ethan!” he yells frantically, making his way to him. “Are you hurt?”

Ethan grimaces, and pulls his hand away to reveal blood. “Got hit. It's just a graze, though,” he adds at Will's anxious look, “I'll be fine.” He nods and offers a pained smile, and then stands. “Director? Are you all right?”

Brassel nods at him. “I'm unhurt, Agent Hunt. Brandt, Stickell?”

“All right,” they both answer in unison. Brassel spares the limp bodies of his would-be assassins one glance, and then pulls a remote out of his pocket and presses a button on it. Immediately the alarms stop.

“I'd better go make sure my wife and son are all right,” he says. He pats his pocket, the one with the flash drive in it. “I'm keeping it. And I'm canceling tomorrow's mission and sending out an official arrest warrant for Fritz Everett. Why don't you three clean up in the meanwhile?” He nods at the men on the ground, as if it's the agents' fault they're there.

Luther makes a face, but doesn't object. “Can we get a first-aid kit? For Ethan,” he asks instead.

Brassel points at the minibar. “There should be one behind it.” And with that, he sweeps out of the room, calm and composed like he didn't just escape death.

“That man's a fucking robot,” Luther says, once he's sure Brassel's out of earshot. “I've been shot at millions of times and I'm still shaken right now, and he looks like nothing happened.”

“He's probably been shot at more times than you,” Will says matter-of-factly, getting the first-aid kit. He gets Ethan to sit on the sofa that's _not_ covered in blood and gray matter. “Take off your shirt.”

Ethan obliges, grimacing when it pulls against his graze. Will wipes away the blood with his own shirt, and then observes the wound. “Lucky for you it's not deep. It's going to hurt like a bitch for some time, but it'll be fine in a few days. I'm just putting gauze over it, okay?” He gets a nod in response, and pulls out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. “Okay, I'm gonna need to clean it first. This will hurt, so brace yourself, okay?” He knows Ethan is perfectly aware of what's going to happen, but he's found that talking it out helps get him braced and ready for whatever's coming, makes it more tolerable.

“I'm not holding your hand,” Luther says. Ethan glares at him, and fists his free hand in Will's shirt.

“Do it,” he says. “And keep talking.”

“All right,” Will says, dabbing the peroxide on a cotton ball. Ethan hisses through gritted teeth when it touches his shoulder. “Sorry, I'm sorry, but it's going to hurt more before it gets better,” Will tells him, wincing. “Just – be careful next time, okay? I hate it when you're hurt.”

“Not to mention it makes you useless,” comments Luther. Ethan glares again.

“Don't listen to him, he's carrying on Benji's tradition of interrupting our moments,” Will says with a small smile as he dabs the wound with the cotton. Ethan's got his teeth grit against the pain, jaw tight and tense.

“ _ Our moments _ ?” Luther repeats incredulously. “What is this,  _ Days of Our Lives _ ?”

Ethan's hand tightens abruptly in Will's shirt, and Will winces. “Sorry,” he repeats, trying to be a little gentler. “I'm just trying to hurry, that's all. We need to check in with the others, you know. And we need to find Everett before he discovers Brassel called off the mission.” He finishes cleaning the wound and chucks the cotton ball to the side. “Okay, done. Just gonna cover it up now.”

Ethan unclenches his jaw and exhales in relief. Will offers him a sympathetic smile and tapes gauze onto the wound, patting it down to make sure it's well in place. “You can put your shirt back on now.”

“Thanks,” Ethan says, and does so. Luther, bored with their exchange, is kicking at the glass on the floor.

“I can't believe he shot him in the head,” he says, nodding at one of the limp bodies.

“He kinda had it coming,” comments Will, following Luther's gaze to the man on the floor who's missing a sizeable chunk of his head.

“This is going to be one bitch of a clean-up,” Luther says. “I don't envy the people who've got to do it, you know.”

Brassel chooses that moment to re-enter the room. “Anna and Eric are fine,” he says. “Agent Hunt?”

“I'm good, Will patched me up,” Ethan says.

“Excellent. Have you checked in with your friends yet?” queries Brassel.

“We're waiting for them, actually,” Will says. “They said they would contact us at 9 PM. It's–” he checks his watch, “–half past eight.”

Brassel nods. “All right. Would you like to wait here with the brains, or come get clean?” He nods towards the door. “I believe one of Eric's shirts might fit Ethan. Get that bloody thing off.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ethan says sincerely. “And, sir,” he adds, and grins, “if you don't mind, we'll have that coffee now.”

* * *

Eric gives Ethan one of his shirts, a black V-neck that's not much different from what Ethan had previously been wearing. Anna makes coffee for everyone, and seats them down in another, less formal lounge, before taking her leave. Brassel himself is busy, calling to cancel the mission and making arrangements for a clean-up crew.

“Is there anything on the bodies that might indicate where they're from?” asks Will at one point, after Brassel and Luther have come back from examining the assassins.

“Nope,” Luther says, shaking his head. “Nothing. Not even proper cell phones – they were using disposable ones, like the ones we've got right now.”

“Dammit,” curses Will, and goes back to his coffee, glowering into it like its the reason for all of this mess.

“Let's just hope the others have better news,” Ethan says.

His phone rings at 9 PM exactly – and Jane on the other end sounds frustrated. “We can't find him, Ethan,” she says the moment he picks up. “There's nothing in his apartment that could indicate where he is, and we've checked every hotel nearby.”

“He's using an alias, probably,” says Will at once. From where he's sitting next to Ethan, he can hear every word. “We need to find out that alias, Jane.”

“How?” she asks, sounding irritated.

“What did he sign off the emails with?” asks Ethan suddenly. “The ones he sent to the Vikings. What did he use to sign off those?”

Will blinks. “Frank Ethelman. But I doubt he's using that alias. I thought he might be, but he's got to be smart enough to use a different name, right?”

Ethan grins, and tells Jane, “Look for Frank Ethelman.” He hangs up and says, “Will, babe, you're assuming Everett thinks the way you do, which he doesn't. He probably didn't think to use a different name, because up till now he thinks he's going to get away with it.”

“His overconfidence is his downfall,” Will continues, cottoning on.

“Yes,” finishes Ethan. “Come on, he wasn't even smart enough to choose a name with different initials. It's not that far off that he wouldn't find himself a different alias.”

Will shrugs. “It's what I would have done, though, if I ever had to hide.”

“Me too,” puts in Luther. “Who made him Secretary again? He's not got much in the way of smarts.”

There is a cough, and they turn to see Brassel's unamused expression. “I made him Secretary, actually, to answer your question,” he says to Luther, who grins sheepishly. “And do not understimate him. He's much smarter than you think he is. This entire mess proves that.”

Will nods. “I've seen his reports, and I know the way he thinks. He's smart, all right.”

Just then, Ethan's phone rings again. It's Zhen this time. “We need you guys,” she tells him quietly. A car can be heard driving by in the background. “He's at the Hilton, but he's got backup and we're outnumbered.”

Will's already pulling up the address on his phone. “We'll be there in fifteen minutes,” he promises her, and stands. “Well, what're we waiting for?” he says. “Let's go!”

Ethan stands, and so does Luther. Brassel takes a moment, and then says, “I'll be right behind you. Just let me tell Eric and Anna. Go.”

They leave without hesitation, sprinting out of the mansion and to the garage. The fastest car there is a Mercedes-Benz, and immediately Luther gets to work while Will and Ethan keep a lookout. Hotwiring the car is child's play for the seasoned agent, and soon enough he's buckling himself into the driver's seat and roaring at Will and Ethan to hurry up.

They zoom off, and this time they're too wired to even complain about Luther's driving. Will's in the front seat with Luther, directing him, while Ethan in the backseat makes sure they've got enough ammo. They arrive at the Hilton faster than expected, and park a block away before running the rest of the way.

The others are waiting for them. “He knows we're coming,” Benji says, “but he doesn't know we're here. I think his guys were supposed to contact him once they had Brassel down, and – where _is_ Brassel?”

“He said he'd meet us after telling his wife and son he's had to leave, but I don't think he's coming, somehow,” Will says. “He seemed a bit off, to tell the truth. I think he's going to do something else.”

“Should we be worried?” asked Declan.

“No, I don't think so,” Will replies. “I trust him. He's the Director.”

“Well, we trusted our Secretary, and look where that's gotten us,” Declan points out.

“I don't know, man, I just trust him anyway,” Will says.

“That's kinda unlike you, doing things on a hunch,” observes Jane.

“It's not a hunch,” Will tells her. “Everett wouldn't be planning on offing him if he wasn't a threat to Everett. Highly unlikely they're in it together. So yeah, whatever it is – I trust him.”

“And we trust you, so let's not talk about this any further,” Zhen says, putting an end to the discussion. “What's the plan now?”

“We go up and take him out?” suggests Luther. “Seems the most reasonable course of action.”

“More like the only one,” corrects Ethan with a wry grin. “So yes, that's what we're going to do. But to do that we need to surround him. Benji – you say he knows we're coming?”

“Yes,” confirms Benji, “which is why we need to _hurry_.”

Will, who's been keeping a close watch on who's exiting and entering the hotel, says, “Well, he hasn't left through the front entrance, but that's not to say there aren't ways.”

“We're wasting time,” says Declan impatiently. “He's going to escape.”

“Declan's right,” Ethan agrees. “Let's just find him and focus on taking him out. We'll worry about everything else later. Like before, we're going to split up. Jane, Zhen, Declan – take the front entrance. Benji, Luther – you two are on computers. Hack in and assign a room to them, so that they can get in without any problems. Get control of the elevators. Basically take over the servers and take care of everything that way. Can you do that? Good. Okay. Will and I will take the back, in case he tries to escape that way.”

With that, they split up. Jane, Zhen and Declan head off into the lobby, and Benji and Luther disappear to somewhere where they can set up their computers with ease. Ethan and Will run around to the back of the hotel, locating the fire exits and standing by, guns at the ready. “We've got him now,” Ethan says, and Will nods at him. It feels a little surreal, all of the trouble they've been through the past few days culminating in this. It's almost over.

Five minutes pass by, and then a man dressed entirely in black exits from the back. He jumps to attention the moment he sees Will and Ethan, but he's a moment too late; Ethan's already got him knocked out and crumpled on the ground before he can make a move. He drags him into the shadows so that no one will see him.

“Everett's,” he mouths to Will, who nods again.

“Expect more,” he replies tersely. “He's probably sending them to make sure he can make a clean exit, but that's not happening.”

They take out three more men in the next few minutes. “I think that's it,” Will says, not even having broken a sweat. Ethan's a bit out of breath due to his wound, but he looks like he'll be fine, so Will doesn't push it. “I don't think he can afford to send any more people.”

“Who are these people anyway?” wonders Ethan, brushing his hair out from where it's fallen into his eyes.

“They're not American,” Will says. “Europeans. I'd say they're members of the Vikings. Everett probably requested a few as his personal protection detail. By the skillsets we saw on the men who attacked us at Brassel's, I'd say they're mercenaries.”

“That means this has been going on for longer than we first guessed,” Ethan says. “He managed to get some of his terrorist buddies into the country and right under our noses. He's been planning this for quite some time.”

“Yeah, you're right. Which means the faster we stop him, the more lives we can save. Let's hope these are the only Vikings he's got in the country.”

“Well, we'll find out when we get him.”

“Which reminds me. The others haven't called yet.”

Ethan curses as he realizes it's been fifteen minutes with no word from the others. “Sure wish we had our comms with us,” he says. “Wouldn't have to worry about this stuff.”

“Well, that's what we get for going on an unauthorized, eleventh hour mission,” Will replies.

Another few minutes pass before Ethan's phone rings. “Ethan.” Zhen's voice is strangely subdued. “You need to come up here and see this.”

“Why – what's happening?” demands Ethan. “Zhen, what's going on?”

“Just come and see for yourself,” is all she says before hanging up.

“What's going on?” asks Will at once. “Why is she asking us to come up?”

“I don't know, but she didn't use our code red phrase, so we should be good,” Ethan says cautiously. “All the same, be careful,” he adds, and Will nods at him.

It's not hard getting up to Everett's floor – Will's discovered that if you act like you belong someplace, no one will question it. Comes in handy at times, like now. They move in silence. Will notices Ethan's favoring his uninjured shoulder, and decides to check it out later. The wound must still hurt.

The door to Everett's room is closed, but Ethan rings Zhen once and she opens. Wordlessly she steps aside for them to enter. They're greeted by a very strange sight – Everett's knocked out, as well as several men in black. Jane and Declan are going through their pockets, obviously looking for any identifying information. And standing in the dead center of the room, overseeing it all, is Director Brassel.

“I told you we can trust him,” says Will at once.

“Thank you for that vote of confidence, Agent Brandt,” says Brassel with a dry grin. “I trust all is well with you two?”

“We're awesome,” Will says, grinning back. “How did you get here without us noticing?”

“I'm the Director for a reason,” Brassel tells him. “I have my ways, Agent. Maybe I'll tell you someday.”

“Fair enough,” grins Will.

“How are we going to get them to HQ?” questions Ethan, gesturing towards the mass of unconscious bodies. Jane and Declan finish their search, finding, as expected, absolutely nothing.

“I've got a team on the way,” Brassel tells them. “You'll be glad to know that the mission scheduled for tomorrow morning has been canceled. I've also called off the manhunt for Agents Hunt, Brandt and Stickell. You're free men.”

Will visibly slumps in obvious relief, and Ethan looks like a weight has slid off his shoulders. They share a tired grin, and Ethan squeezes Will's fingers once before saying, “Well, we better let Benji and Luther know. Oh, and you guys? This is the last mission we're going on without comms.”

“Fuck yeah,” agrees Declan fervently. “This shit's hard to coordinate without constant communication.”

“Nice alliteration,” teases Zhen.

“Oh quit it,” grumbles Declan, but without any sting. He bumps lightly into her and says, “What do you say we go on a long vacation, eh, woman?”

“Sounds good to me,” she smiles.

“Wow, one would almost think you two were on the run for two days – oh wait, that was us,” Ethan says sarcastically, but he's grinning in relief too.

* * *

At the end, when Everett and his terrorist buddies are safely contained within the IMF's holding cells, Brassel all but forces them to go home. “Get some rest, you've deserved it,” he insists. “I want you back here by no earlier than nine. _All_ of you. And don't worry about the diplomatic clusterfuck – I'll deal with that.”

“But sir, what about the Vikings–” begins Will, but Brassel's having none of it.

“Go home. And that's an _order_ , Agent Brandt,” he says firmly.

They end up taking a cab. “Do you think we can find the 'Stang again, and keep it? Y'know, for nostalgia and shit,” asks Will drowsily on the way home. Now that the entire ordeal is over and the adrenalin is wearing off, he can finally let himself rest without a care. He can't even articulate how much he's looking forward to finally being in his own bed in his own home.

“I don't want to,” snorts Ethan. “I'm only hoping Mr. Nathan Ludwig will agree to return my Porsche in exchange for his Mustang.”

“Forget it,” laughs Will. “No one in their right mind is giving up a Porsche for a beat-up Mustang.”

“We did,” Ethan reminds him, scowling at the possibility that he may not get his car back.

“Who says we're in our right minds?” retorts Will, and really, what answer is there to that? It's the cold, hard truth.

“At least it wasn't the Stingray,” Will says consolingly after a few moments.

“Thank God for small favors,” mutters Ethan. “I'm gonna need a new Porsche.”

“Get something else this time,” suggests Will. “Get a McLaren.”

“Nah, not a McLaren,” disagrees Ethan. “Challenger?”

“Yep, Challenger sounds good,” says Will. “Can I pick the color?”

“We'll see,” answers Ethan vaguely. A moment later he relents. “Fine, as long as it's not something weird.”

Will gasps dramatically. “I would _never_!” he says, mock affronted, clutching his heart.

Ethan snorts again. “Cute.”

“Excuse you,” Will mutters, but he's laughing quietly.

* * *

They stumble in a zombie-like state back up to their apartment. Honestly, Will doesn't get how they haven't yet fallen asleep on their feet. He's got to give Ethan credit – he manages to get the key into the keyhole on his fifth try, as opposed to Will's eight unsuccessful tries. He can barely keep his eyes open, and Ethan doesn't look much better.

They don't even bother changing into something comfortable – they just kick off their socks and shoes, get rid of their pants and collapse into bed. Ethan doesn't even fold his clothes, just throws them into a corner in a very Will-esque manner and pulls the comforter over himself.

“Goodnight,” he mumbles sleepily.

“'Night,” answers Will, just as sleepy. “Are you gon' set the alarm?”

“No, you do it,” Ethan says, voice muffled into his pillow. Grumbling, Will does so, and then settles into his side of the bed, stretching his entire body and moaning happily at the _utter_ bliss.

“You sound like you're having the best sex of your life,” Ethan says with a small laugh.

“No, this is better,” sighs Will. “Now shush, I'm going to sleep and I absolutely refuse to be woken before I have to.”

* * *

It's a complete pain getting up in the morning, but they do it anyway, and reach HQ at nine sharp. Instead of dressing for work, though, they're in casual wear, and head straight down to where Everett and his buddies are being held.

Brassel's already there, as are Jane and Luther. “Good, you're here,” greets Brassel when he sees them. “I was just going to start interrogating him.” He nods at the one-way window looking into the interrogation room, where Everett's handcuffed to a desk, looking mulishly around. “You people planning on joining me?”

“Gladly,” says Will.

“You two stay back,” Brassel says when Jane and Luther make to follow them into the room. “I need you to make a report of all of this, including _everything_. Get Agents Lei, Gormley and Dunn in on it too.”

Luther makes a face at being assigned paperwork, but Jane nods professionally and says, “Yes, sir.” She gives Will and Ethan a smile, and takes Luther's arm, leading him away.

“What's with that?” wonders Ethan, watching them leave.

“I think they like each other,” guesses Will. “Like, _like_ like.”

“What is this, middle school?” laughs Ethan, but immediately stops when Brassel raises his eyebrow at him.

“Let's get this started,” says the Director, and with that they step into the interrogation room.

They take seats on the opposite side of the desk from Everett, who's now glaring openly at them. “Okay, Mr. Everett,” begins Brassel. “Are you aware of the charges against you?”

“I want a lawyer,” says Everett at once.

Brassel snorts derisively. “This isn't a police interrogation, Mr. Everett. You don't get a lawyer. You get to answer our questions, and you get to do it truthfully or you find yourself in a world of hurt. Now remember, all three of us are excellent at being able to tell when people are bullshitting us. It's not going to go well for you if you choose to lie to us.”

Everett just glares some more, clearly weighing his options. “What do you want?” he finally sighs.

“Good,” says Brassel, satisfied. “You can start by telling us why you helped found the Vikings, and why you're helping them sabotage the missions you planned yourself.”

“I didn't found them,” Everett says, almost before he can stop himself. “My brother did. Only they weren't called the Vikings back then. They were known as the Herald.”

Ethan and Will exchange looks of recognition. That mission isn't one they're easily going to forget – it had been hard on them mentally and physically, and had taken a lot of time to complete. They'd thought they'd taken down the Herald completely, though – they had no idea the founder had a brother.

“When the IMF started keeping tabs on the Herald, my brother thought it wise to have a man on the inside. I fabricated a past, made myself a new identity, and joined up as an analyst. From there, it wasn't hard to make myself known by my reports, especially because I could provide accurate information about the movement of most terrorist organizations. After Moscow, I was the natural candidate for Secretary. That was not even a slight problem for me. It wasn't hard to get through your scanners either – all I had to do was get my brother's associates to delete all evidence of my existence and plant false data in its place.”

“So what's your real name?” asks Brassel. He's listened to all of it with a calm, composed facade, letting nothing show on his face. Will almost envies his poker face. Almost – because his own is just as good.

Ethan, on the other hand, is an open book, anger and shock clearly visible on his face. Everett takes all three of their faces in, and then answers, “Frank Ethelman is actually my real name.”

There is another silence. “You should have chosen a better alias,” Will finally says. “Go on. Continue.”

Everett – Ethelman? – glares extra-hard at him, as if it's Will's fault he's here and not hidden safely away in Eastern Europe. It kind of is. “I didn't know then that you were going to take down the Herald and kill my brother. I didn't know that the entire organization would be razed to the ground. I wasn't even there when it happened. I had to find out through an _intelligence report_.” There is barely contained rage on his face but the grief in his eyes is clear, and despite everything Will finds he feels a little sorry for him. God knows if _he'd_ lost someone he loved he'd have gone crazy with rage and grief too. Then he remembers that Everett had been planning on having people _die_ , and he goes back to anger and indignance.

Everett takes a few deep breaths and carries on. “I swore to myself I would have revenge. And what better than discrediting the IMF and blaming the Chief Analyst for it? Two birds with one stone. I knew that if I implicated Brandt his team would fall under suspicion too. Everyone knows how close the four of you are. I hadn't counted on Stickell being there that night, though, when I planted fake evidence that Brandt stole some data. That wasn't hard, either. I almost couldn't believe how easy everything was, to be honest, and I knew that somehow, somewhere, there had to be a catch.”

“There was,” says Ethan, voice cold. It's obvious that despite what Will may have felt, he has no sympathy for Everett. “You happened to forget that Will is a hell of a lot smarter than you are, and that we would stop at nothing to help him clear his name.”

Everett nods. “Loyal companions are something I haven't had since my brother died. I had to rebuild our organization from the ground up, and disguise their existence. I deleted all evidence, every report that came in about them. I couldn't afford to let anyone find out before all the pieces fell in place. This collaboration with Interpol was my chance to set my plan in motion. Of course, I hadn't been counting on Stickell, and on the three of you escaping so fast. Still, the manhunt worked in my favor as well as your guilty presence might have.

“I had some agents keep an eye on your team, and on Gormley and Lei as well. That was a mistake – they are loyal to IMF, not to me, and if they thought that the greater good of the IMF is at stake they wouldn't hesitate to disobey my orders. Clearly they weren't that well-trained either. I had some of my men come in from Ireland, for my personal protection and for keeping an eye on the Director. I had to get rid of him before I could get away. You, sir, are the one person who could completely fuck my plan up, and you did. Not without help, of course.”

“Are those the only men you have in this country?” asks Brassel.

Everett nods. “Yes. I promise there aren't any more.”

Will frowns, and then says, “Okay. We need the names and locations of all cells of the Vikings. And if it's not correct, you're going to suffer, a _lot_. When word gets out of what you did, a lot of people are going to be unhappy with you.”

Everett nods again, coldly, and then says, “I will need paper and a pencil.”

“That can be arranged,” Brassel tells him. “Is there anything more you'd like to tell us?”

The disgraced Secretary shakes his head. “Nothing that you don't already know.”

Brassel eyes him intently for a moment, and then says, “All right. Agents Hunt and Brandt, you're free to leave. Why don't you take the week off? You deserve it.”

Ethan blinks, surprised. “Are you sure, sir?” he asks hesitantly.

“Absolutely,” replies Brassel. “The rest of it is all bureaucracy and paperwork. Don't worry, Brandt,” he adds when he spots the look of horror on Will's face at the mention of paperwork, “you don't have to do any of it. Go home, rest up. If I need your help, I will call you.”

“Okay,” accepts Will. “Thank you, sir.”

Brassel nods at him. “Take care, Agents.” He turns back to Everett.

“Why do you think he talked so easily?” asks Ethan once they're headed back outside, after calling Jane to let her and Luther know they're leaving. “I was expecting we'd have to work a lot harder for him to say anything.”

“I think he wants to negotiate a deal with Brassel,” guesses Will. “Makes sense, doesn't it? If you think about it. He rats out his own organization to Brassel, and gets less jailtime.”

“Do you think Brassel will take the deal?” inquires Ethan.

“I don't know,” replies Will honestly. “It's hard to tell with that man sometimes. I guess it all depends on his information, though. Brassel's going to go easier on him if he's not lying, I suppose.”

“True,” muses Ethan. “Anyway, like he said, it's not really our problem anymore. Let's just... forget it. Or you know – ignore it.”

“I approve of this idea,” grins Will. They're back in the parking lot now, walking leisurely towards the Stingray. “Hey, you wanna do something else in the evening? Maybe go out for dinner?”

“Yeah, why not,” shrugs Ethan. “Sounds good to me. D'you wanna grab a bite to eat on our way back?” he asks as he unlocks the doors and gets into the driver's seat. “I feel like I'm starving.”

“Yeah, me too,” concurs Will, getting in the passenger seat and buckling himself in. “Let's go to that diner Benji told us about, you remember? Not far from here. He says the pancakes are _heavenly_.”

“We will try these heavenly pancakes, then,” decides Ethan, and pulls out of the parking lot.

* * *

Brassel only contacts them once throughout their one-week holiday, and that too just to ask them their story from when Luther contacted them at 2 AM to when they walked up to Brassel's place. They don't even need to go to HQ for that – Brassel Skypes them from his office, and they all pretend that Will and Ethan aren't sitting there in their shorts and munching on a bowl of Doritos.

Everett did in fact want to negotiate a deal, they find out when they return to work after a week of sleeping, sleeping, some more sleeping, watching TV and eating out. Brassel agreed, but only because Everett had given them a lot of useful information on not just the Vikings but some other terrorist cells as well. The deal is that Brassel will tell everyone that Everett resigned due to personal reasons, and he will vanish. And by vanish, Brassel means he'll be under house arrest for the rest of his life, armed guards outside every door and window, no access to the Internet or telephone. It's not like there's any family left for him to contact anyway.

Brassel also told Interpol that he received an anonymous tip-off about the Vikings, which was why he canceled the mission. He sent a couple of experienced teams to Ireland and they returned with the remaining Vikings in tow. All of them are jailed for life, in prisons all over the world with no way to contact each other. The missions continue normally after that, with minimal interference and problems.

Life at the IMF goes back to normal, slowly but surely. Will returns to his intelligence reports and mission overviews, and Ethan goes back to his classes and students and exams. Jane and Benji restrain themselves from complaining about boredom with great difficulty. Life goes on.

* * *

Jane drops by Will's office one afternoon while he's having lunch with Ethan. “Hi,” she says brightly.

“Look who's all cheerful,” greets Will with a grin. “Going somewhere, Jane?” She's dressed in a pretty floral blouse and a navy blue flared skirt, and looks beautiful.

She actually blushes at that. “Yes, actually. I've got a date,” she tells them.

“Who with?” asks Ethan, pausing in his eating.

“Luther,” she replies, pink spots standing high on her cheeks. “He asked me out this morning.”

“That's great, Jane,” Ethan says, smiling sincerely at her. “I'm really happy for you guys.”

“It's nothing serious yet,” she says, smiling back. “But – you know. I really like him, and I'm pretty sure he likes me too.”

“'Course he does, he'd be crazy not to,” Will says, and offers her a brilliant smile. “You're going to tell us all about it, aren't you?”

“Yes, all right,” she laughs. “I'd better get going, you two. He's waiting for me. See you later.”

“Bye, Jane,” Ethan says. “Enjoy your date!”

“And make good choices,” adds Will with a grin. She rolls her eyes fondly at him before leaving. He waits until she's gone, and then turns to Ethan. “Well, I was right.”

“As usual,” sighs Ethan in a very put-upon manner. “It's beginning to give me a complex.”

“Oh please,” scoffs Will. “You're the one who _loves_ rubbing in how you're always right when we're on missions.”

“Hm, true,” agrees Ethan. “Because I _am_.”

“Yes yes, I know,” Will laughs, and chucks a dumpling at him.

* * *

This is their life, Ethan thinks one night, a week and a half after life's gone back to normal. He's sitting up in bed reading, Will sleeping peacefully next to him. This is the life that they've chosen for themselves, and it is dangerous and filled with adrenalin rushes. Sometimes they get hurt, and sometimes they have to leave everything and run. Sometimes they have to sacrifice things close to them. Things don't always turn out okay, but most of the time they come close enough, and it's more than what anyone in this life can ask for.

This is the life they live, and Ethan wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo - thoughts?
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x


	16. Bad Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan Hunt is great at a lot of things. Timing is not one of them.
> 
> He was told this for the first (but not the last) time by his exasperated mother, and for the second time by his first girlfriend, way back in high school. The third person was Phelps, and then Sarah. And then Nyah, and Julia, and his instructors at the IMF, and his superiors, and Zhen and Declan and Luther and Jane and Benji, and sometimes even his opponents. He hears it a lot.
> 
> So it’s only a matter of time before he hears it from Will, isn’t it?
> 
> (or, The One Where Ethan Wants to Marry Will But Can't Ask Because of Something or the Other)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG - I've had assignments and finals and quizzes plus a delightful assortment of personal problems ranging from anxiety to the usual family messes. Then ofc Ramadan started.
> 
> I had some trouble with this, which seems to be par for the course now -- I couldn't figure out how to begin it. I had the general idea down, and I knew what I wanted to happen, I just couldn't get it down on [metaphorical] paper. A lot of writing, rewriting, and deletion happened before I just decided, "fuck it, I'm gonna start over".
> 
> And then I wrote 10k in one day. Such is life.
> 
> Anyway, I'm gonna stop talking now, so you people can get to the fun bits. I hope you all like it!

Ethan Hunt is great at a lot of things. Timing is not one of them.

He was told this for the first (but not the last) time by his exasperated mother; he’d run into the kitchen right after she had cleaned it top to bottom, and ruined her perfectly shiny, newly-mopped floors with his muddy boots. “Ethan, honey,” she had sighed, “I do wish you had better timing.”

The second person to tell him this was, surprisingly, not Uncle Don. It was his first girlfriend, right after he’d called her to take her out on their two-month anniversary. “Ethan, I’m sorry,” she had sighed, “but I was just going to break up with you. I’m sorry. I wish you had better timing, though – this would have been great on our one-month anniversary.”

(Ethan had just stuttered something unintelligible and hung up. He still feels mortified about it sometimes, when he thinks of the awkward shy kid he’d been during his school years.)

The third person was Phelps, and then Sarah. And then Nyah, and Julia, and his instructors at the IMF, and his superiors, and Zhen and Declan and Luther and Jane and Benji, and sometimes even his opponents. He hears it a lot.

So it’s only a matter of time before he hears it from Will, isn’t it?

* * *

He’s had this planned for a while now. He’d never really considered himself the marriage type, not after a series of unsuccessful relationships and bad breakups, plus the nature of the job – fuck’s sake, he’d tried it once and look how _that_ had turned out. Julia’s in fucking _witness protection_.

But then one night he arrived home late from a long day at headquarters and found Will asleep on the couch, clearly having given in to exhaustion despite having tried to stay up and wait for Ethan. The analyst was sprawled on his back on the sofa, glasses askew, iPad facedown on his chest, TV running in the background. Normally Ethan’s first instinct would have been to question why Will was watching _Keeping Up With the Kardashians_ – Will’s refined tastes would never have let him, not in a million years – but this time Ethan could only focus on the way Will’s arm was dangling off the edge of the sofa, fingers touching the carpet; soft hair mussed from sleep, still looking slightly damp from a shower that must have taken place in the past thirty minutes or so; mouth open a little as he slept; the way the light from the TV fell on his skin and made it look softer. He was wearing one of Ethan’s old sweaters, and the too-long sleeves went beyond his wrists to cover half his hands as well, leaving just his fingers peeking out.

_Shit_ , Ethan thought. _I’m going to end up marrying him._

So he did the only thing that made sense – he went out the next day while Will was working, and bought a ring. He doesn’t tell anyone about it, not even Luther, and instead dedicates his mental energies to figuring out a way to propose to Will. He doesn’t want it to be something over the top, but nothing too simple either. And he wants it to be _memorable_. Well, he supposes, proposals are memorable no matter how they go, but the point stands – he wants Will to think back on this moment in the future, and feel warm and loved.

He considers the _going down on one knee_ route but decides against it – too predictable. Slipping it in Will’s drink during dinner at Will’s favorite place? No – too large a risk of Will choking on it. Will has a habit of talking as he eats, and as such he often doesn’t look down at his food much. Many times he’s finished a meal and then realized he has no idea what he just ate, because he was too busy talking at Ethan during the meal.

So that’s out of the question. Ethan doesn’t want Will dying of something totally avoidable.

Maybe he can just leave it around the house and hope that Will understands whenever he discovers it. Or not – Will’s likelier to think it’s some kind of bomb, and Ethan doesn’t want the entire building evacuated on a false alarm.

When he’s frustratingly run out of ideas, he turns to the next best source – the internet. He goes incognito so Will won’t find this in the search history, goes to Google and types in “man proposing to lover of 5 years”. Sure, the search key is long-winded, but Ethan has utter and complete faith in Google. Google knows _everything_.

Instead of the stroke of inspiration that he was expecting, what turns up instead is a bunch of pictures of guys on their knees in front of crying girls, and a _lot_ of articles about a man who proposed to his girlfriend every day for a year. That sounds _exhausting_. Every day for a _year_. Ethan’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the kind of mental stamina required to come up with 365 different ways, at least not without losing his mind entirely.

So he tries being more specific, and types in “man proposing to boyfriend of 5 years”. Google will help, he’s confident of this fact. Google always helps.

Nope. More women. More articles. This time there’s shit like “Your Man Not Proposing? Five Reasons Why!” and “How to Get Your Man to Propose!” which, Ethan thinks, sounds either like click-bait or manipulative – or both. Frustrated, he closes the window and slams the laptop shut with more force than is necessary.

He doesn’t have to spend too much time thinking about this, however – their next mission makes the decision for him.

* * *

It was supposed to be easy – _supposed_ being the keyword in the sentence. Now he’s dangling from the edge of a very _tall_ cliff, upside down. The only thing that’s preventing him from falling on the sharp rocks and raging sea below is a vine that’s tangled around his foot.

_Easy, my ass_ , he thinks darkly as he sways a little in the sea breeze. _Someone’s paying for this_.

He tries contacting his team over the comms for the third time, but just like the previous times all he gets is static. He’s pretty sure his comms are broken, which just makes his mood worse. Of all the times, it had to be now. Of fucking course it had to be now. He considers yelling for help, but that’s probably not a good idea. Especially considering that the bastards that threw him over the edge are still on top of the cliff, convinced he’s dead.

(Seriously, who throws someone over a cliff but doesn’t stop to check if that person actually made it to the bottom? Fucking idiots, that’s who.)

He’s broken out of his sulking a moment later when there’s a loud _thud_ and a yell of pain. A few seconds later there’s the characteristic _crunch_ of bone breaking, and the ensuing scream. It’s clear from the sounds of the melee that one of his teammates has somehow succeeded in locating him; he can only hope that the broken bone doesn’t belong to whoever that is. His hope is proved correct a moment later when Ethan hears the distinctive sound of Will cursing, accompanied with more thuds and grunts and other ominous sounds. Ethan waits patiently while Will kicks ass some fifteen feet above his head.

The patience only lasts a few moments; all the blood rushing to his head is giving him an epic headache, the vine is loosening, plus there’s an itch on his back that he really wants to scratch but can’t reach without endangering himself further. Also, he really needs to pee.

“Will, _hurry_!” he calls, his voice conveying his irritation and impatience.

“I’m trying!” Will calls back testily, the sentence punctuated with the sound of punching. “Where the hell are you, anyway? I can’t see you!” The punching sound stops, and there’s silence from here on out. Ethan assumes that Will’s successfully beaten everyone into unconsciousness.

“Look over the edge!” he yells. A particularly strong gust of wind causes him to sway alarmingly. “Hurry!”

He hears an annoyed huff in response, and a second later Will’s head appears over the edge of the cliff. “Oh, hello,” he says, and to Ethan’s increased irritation, a grin unfurls on his face. “How’s the weather down there?”

“Shut up,” Ethan snaps, scowling at Will. “Get me up.”

Will laughs. “ _Get me up_ ,” he mimics. “I’ve got millions of ways to do that.”

Ethan’s scowl deepens as he realizes the unintended innuendo. “Now is not the time, Will,” he shouts.

Will’s grin widens, if possible. “Killjoy,” he says cheerfully. “Gimme a good reason I should pull you back up.”

“I can give you many,” retorts Ethan. “It’s uncomfortable, my head hurts, my back itches, I have to pee – oh, and _I’ll fall to my death any second now_.”

“That’s not good,” Will says, mock-seriously. “I’d be sad if that happened.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Ethan accuses, glaring. “You’re _loving_ this, aren’t you?”

“Me?” Will blinks innocently. “I’d _never_. I’m offended and deeply saddened that you would think that about me, Ethan.”

Ethan facepalms; he can’t help it. The action makes the vine loosen some more, and he lets out an involuntary yell as he slips further, scrabbling to find purchase on the cliff surface. Will’s expression changes abruptly, going from amused to tense, and he yells, “The _vine_ — why didn’t you _tell_ me the vine was loose?”

“You were too busy laughing at me!” Ethan snaps back.

“Because I thought you weren’t in any immediate danger!” defends Will, even as he fumbles with something out of Ethan’s line of sight.

“Did the part where I’m dangling upside down off a cliff not tip you off?” Ethan questions snarkily. He wants to cross his arms but is afraid it’ll be the final straw that snaps the vine and leads to him plunging to his death. That would suck.

For one, he’d be dead. For another, because they’re not married, Will would not be entitled to any of his life insurance.

An idea dawns, and Ethan’s eyes widen a little as he thinks it over. It’s the _perfect_ time – Will looks so scared for him now that he’s likelier to say yes, if only because he’ll be overwhelmed with relief at Ethan’s safety.

He blinks when his (admittedly somewhat stress-addled) thought process is interrupted by a length of rope falling in front of his face, just within reach. “Grab that!” Will shouts from above, his voice carrying clear and terrified on the breeze. “I’ve got it anchored – all I need you to do is climb up, okay? Climb up against the cliff face.”

“All right!” Ethan calls back, gripping the rope tightly at waist-level with both hands and trying not to grimace at the prospect of inevitable rope burn. “I’ll tell you when I start climbing!”

“Okay!” Will yells, and disappears. Ethan waits till the sound of Will’s footsteps stops, and then takes a deep breath to steel himself, before wriggling his entire body. The action jolts him loose from the tangle of vines, as expected – his foot slips free and his entire body drops out of the sky. He yells in pain as his hands slip a few feet before finding their grip again, the rope fibers scraping his palms raw.

“Are you all right?” Will calls, and it sounds like he’s straining. He’s probably grabbed the rope along with the anchor as well.

“I’m okay!” Ethan assures. “I’m going to start climbing now, okay?”

“Okay!”

Ethan wriggles some more until he’s close enough to the cliff face to be able to brace his legs against it, so that he’s now horizontal in midair. The burn in his palms eases a little, since there’s less weight to support now. He gives the rope an experimental tug with one hand, before deeming it secure enough and beginning the cautious climb back up. One misstep can mean his death.

It takes him ten minutes to get to the top. Immediately there are warm, callused hands on his forearms, grabbing tightly and pulling him upwards. Will is red in the face from exertion, his breath falling on Ethan’s face in short puffs. Over his shoulder Ethan can see the other end of the rope tied around—

“Is that a _Hummer_?” he asks incredulously, heart still racing. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know where Will got it.

Will just nods as he pulls Ethan all the way up before releasing him and falling flat on his back. “I put the handbrake on,” he wheezes.

Ethan collapses on his front a good three feet from the edge of the cliff. “Thanks,” he groans, the rope burn in both hands reminding him of its existence.

Will turns his head to smile tiredly at him. “Yeah,” he says shortly.

“I’ve noticed that you save me from falling to my death a lot,” Ethan replies, smiling back, just as exhausted.

Will snorts. “Someone has to.” Then, a moment later, “I’m sorry I didn’t hurry. I should have.”

“You thought I was in no immediate danger,” Ethan says at once.

“Doesn’t matter,” Will retorts shortly.

“Don’t beat yourself up, you still saved me in the end,” Ethan tells him. “Everyone’s allowed a good laugh every once in a while.”

“Not when it could have ended in your death.”

“Will. Let it go.”

Will gives him a half-hearted glare. “Ethan—”

“Let. It. Go.”

“Fine.” Will gives in with a resigned sigh. “Looks like you’re determined to best my conscience.”

“And you know I’ll win,” Ethan says with what he hopes is a charming smile.

Will laughs. “You look pained.”

Ethan stops at once. “Sorry. Tired,” he offers by way of explanation.

“Me too,” Will tells him. “We should go. Safehouse isn’t far from here.”

“Jane and Benji?”

“Already there.”

Ethan nods, and painstakingly gets to his feet, Will doing the same beside him. They dust themselves off and then give each other a once-over, doing what they always do post-mission – scanning for injuries, assessing general health and of course, looking past the game faces to see if there’s anything beyond that needs addressing.

“You missed a spot,” Ethan murmurs, reaching out to brush some gravel off Will’s sleeve. Not that it matters – Will’s wearing a skintight black shirt over his camo pants, and every speck of dust stands out painfully clearly.

“Thanks,” Will says anyway, before catching Ethan’s hand in his and turning it over, inspecting the redness and scrapes. “There’s probably something for that, in the first aid kit in the car,” he says, running his thumb gently over Ethan’s palm. “I’ll fix it up better when we get to the safehouse.” Neither mention that Ethan can fix it up himself just fine – years of being on the same team, of saving each other and the stress that comes with it, have accustomed them to looking after each other at all times. Often it’s the only way to deal with the aforementioned stress, by dealing with the physical manifestations of the source of it.

Ethan wants to do this for the rest of his life.

“Marry me,” he blurts.

Will blinks. “What?” he questions, his thumb stilling over Ethan’s palm.

“Marry me,” Ethan repeats, more certainly this time. He smiles, hoping that it will convey his seriousness to Will.

Will narrows his eyes, watching him closely, clearly doing his analyst thing. When minutes go by and he doesn’t respond, just stands there watching an increasingly nervous Ethan, hand still clutched in his, Ethan says, “It’s not rocket science, Will.”

“You’ve lost it,” Will declares in response, letting go of Ethan’s hand. “Sea breeze’s getting to you, Ethan.”

“What— _no_ ,” Ethan begins, but Will grins at him, making him stop midway. “What are you grinning at?”

“You,” Will replies. “Or rather, the scenario. I mean— if we didn’t already live together, I’d have thought you weren’t kidding when you said that. We’re practically married already, aren’t we?” Without waiting for a reply, he turns and begins walking to the Hummer.

“But I don’t want to be _practically_ married, I want to be _legally_ married!” Ethan retorts, but his voice is lost in the wind. Sighing, he follows Will and resolves to try again soon, perhaps at a better time.

He doesn’t know what he’d have done anyway, if Will had taken him seriously and said yes – the ring’s currently stashed away in his jacket pocket back home. The lack of a ring kind of puts a damper on the entire thing, almost as much as Will thinking it was a joke.

There’s always next time.

* * *

Next time happens when Will and Ethan are crouched behind their broken down Jeep some three weeks later, using it to shield themselves from the bullets flying everywhere.

“We need to get to the building!” Will screams over the din, gun gripped tight in one hand while the other taps rather urgently at his phone. “I’ve keyed in our coordinates, an extraction team should be there soon!”

“Okay!” Ethan yells back. “But if we just run out we’ll be shot at! We’ll be dead within minutes!”

“Who said anything about running out?” inquires Will loudly, pocketing his phone. “We’ll just wait for an opportunity!”

Ethan nods to show he’s heard and understood, and then moves closer to Will so that his left arm is pressed against Will’s right, leaving their gun hands free. “How long till the extraction team gets here?” he asks.

“We’ve got about twenty minutes,” Will replies tersely. “Best they could do.” A bullet whizzes overhead and embeds itself in the wall behind them, and Will jumps a little. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Ethan pats his arm. “You’re okay.”

“I know,” sighs Will. “I just want to go home and sleep, that’s all. But I can’t, because everything is _stupid_.”

As if making his point, a second bullet joins the first one. Will gives it an irritated glance before elevating himself a little and firing off three bullets at whoever’s shooting at them now. “Got him,” he says a moment later, crouching back down and reloading.

To his surprise, Ethan begins chuckling quietly to himself.

“What’s so funny?” demands Will.

“The fact that we somehow managed to get ourselves caught in the middle of a gang firefight, that’s what,” grins Ethan. “Even for me, that’s a first.”

Will remains unamused. “I don’t see what’s funny about that.”

“You will, once we’re not being shot at anymore,” Ethan assures him. After all, this isn’t the first time he’s found himself in danger of death and then laughed about it later when he’s safe. It’s just another way of dealing with it. Plus, he thinks, the situations he finds himself in do seem funny when he looks back on them later, if only because they’re more often than not so utterly _ridiculous_.

A bullet shatters the only remaining window of the car, passing to close to them for comfort, and Ethan fires off a retaliating shot. He ducks for cover before he can see if the shot went true, but a moment later someone screams in agony and he has his answer.

“Let’s hope no one actually dies, that would suck,” Will mutters while Ethan reloads. “I got my guy in the arm, I’m hoping he has the good sense to get help before he bleeds out.”

“Sometimes people die on the job, Will,” Ethan replies, matter-of-fact. “And maybe I sound like an asshole, but I’d rather it was them, not us.”

“You’re _saying_ that, but you’re not thinking it,” Will states flatly. “Which is why you shot that guy in the shoulder even though you just as easily could’ve gotten a lung.”

Ethan shrugs. “I don’t want unnecessary deaths. But,” he adds, “if it comes down to it? I’d take you and me over all of them.”

“Yeah, me too, I— wait.” Will stops midway, eyes narrowing as he listens to something Ethan can’t hear, gun at the ready.

“What is it?” asks Ethan, but Will waves his free hand to shush him.

“Do you hear that?”

Ethan concentrates, before shaking his head. “No.”

“Exactly,” replies Will. “It’s too quiet.” He signals to Ethan to cover him, and peeks out slowly from behind the side of the car. “I don’t see anyone,” he whispers, “but that doesn’t mean no one’s there.”

“Got a smoke bomb?” asks Ethan, just as quiet. “Since we’re not being shot at anymore, we can just—” he mimics throwing something, “—and run.”

“Yeah, that’ll work, I hope,” Will agrees, using his free hand to grope around in his pockets. It takes him a moment, but he eventually finds what he’s looking for and throws it to Ethan, who catches it. “That’s the red one.”

“Perfect,” says Ethan. “Okay, on the count of three?” He waits for Will’s nod, before arming the smoke bomb and throwing it as hard as he can over the car, so that it lands some twenty feet away from them.

There is a hiss followed by clouds of red smoke rising and billowing everywhere, and Ethan begins his countdown. At three he grabs Will’s right hand with his left and tugs, and they both break out of the crouch and run towards the abandoned parking building some thirty yards to their left. The smoke makes for good cover, since they’re the only ones who can see what’s happening.

There are some more shouts coming from confused gunmen who’d probably been hiding, as well as panicked stray shots. All the bullets are way off mark but Will still looks tensed. How fucking stupid would it be to come this far and then be taken down by a stray bullet?

Suddenly there’s a sharp jerk on his hand and he’s pulled to the ground, rolling on top of Ethan. “Ethan, come on!” he yells, getting up on his elbows and offering his hand to Ethan again. “We’ve got to keep going before the smoke clears!”

Ethan’s response is a sharp “ _You_ go!” He sounds like he’s in pain, and in a second Will sees why – a stray bullet’s gotten him, buried deep inside his calf, and he’s got his teeth gritted against the onslaught of pain. “Will, I won’t be able to make it,” he begins. “I can’t run, I’ll only slow you down—”

“I’m not leaving you, you _moron_!” Will snarls at him, grabbing his elbows and tugging him to his feet, ignoring Ethan’s gasp of pain when the weight falls on his injured leg. “I’ll fucking _carry_ you if I have to, but if you ever tell me to leave you, _I will shoot you myself_ ,” finishes Will, and shit, he’s hot when he’s angry.

Ethan snorts to himself. Of course that’s the first thing he’d think when Will is yelling at him.

Will opens his mouth like he’s about to yell some more, but the smoke is already dissipating and the stray shots are going to be a lot less haphazard any moment now. With a small angry sound in the back of his throat that _really_ shouldn’t turn Ethan on as much as it does, the analyst surges forward and grabs Ethan, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry before the surprised agent has a chance to even register what’s happening.

It hits him after Will’s begun running again, every step sending jolts through Ethan’s body and into his hurt leg. Will wasn’t kidding – he’s really carrying Ethan. _He’s carrying Ethan_.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Ethan tells Will just as Will manages to get inside the building, safely and relatively in one piece (bullet wound on Ethan notwithstanding). “Am I that light or are you that strong?”

Will doesn’t put him down yet; he keeps moving forward, clearly looking for a way to the roof where they’ll be collected by the extraction team. “Ethan—”

“I’m kidding, Will,” Ethan says. “Your hand’s on my butt.”

“It’s not,” Will retorts, but Ethan can tell from his tone he’s fighting a grin.

“Maybe it should be,” he suggests, grinning as well. He’s perfectly aware that it’s the injury and subsequent blood loss that’s messing him up and making him say all of this, but he doesn’t care. It’s too much fun teasing Will.

“You’re crazy,” mutters Will in response, finally locating a way to the roof. He curses a moment later. “Fuck. _Stairs_.”

All of Ethan’s mirth vanishes. “Will,” he begins, tone serious, “you don’t have to carry me up the stairs, I can walk—”

“No, you can’t,” interrupts Will. “You—”

Instead of completing his sentence, he carefully sets Ethan down against a pillar, shooting him an apologetic look when he winces in pain. Ethan’s leg is a mess, his pants soaked in blood which shows no sign of stopping any time soon. Will kneels next to Ethan and observes the damage for a moment, before sighing and taking out a knife.

“What are you doing?” asks Ethan apprehensively, eyeing the knife.

“I’m not going to amputate your leg, don’t worry,” snorts Will, and begins cutting away at Ethan’s pants with the knife. “Just figured this would be easier than trying to push your pants leg up.”

“Oh.” Ethan relaxes. “Okay.”

Will uses the strip of Ethan’s pants that he just cut off as an impromptu bandage, tying it tightly around the bullet wound. “That should stop the bleeding for now,” he says. “Sorry,” he adds when he sees how Ethan’s gritting his teeth against the pain, a vein in his forehead standing out.

“It’s okay,” breathes Ethan. “Just— let’s just get out of here.”

That is a sentiment that Will can wholeheartedly agree with. “Can you walk?” he asks.

“I’d say yes even if I couldn’t,” Ethan replies, even as he manages to get to his feet without Will’s help, supporting himself with the pillar. “Mainly because you carrying me is mortifying. I’m pretty sure you’re going to pull a muscle somewhere, I know I’m not exactly a lightweight.”

Will shrugs. “I did what I had to,” he says, refusing to look abashed at his decision. “Look, I don’t care how badass you think you are for standing on your own, but you’re not walking by yourself, okay? You’re just gonna make the wound worse. Here—” He puts his arm around Ethan’s waist and waits for Ethan to reciprocate, before taking a tentative step.

“Okay?” he asks.

Ethan nods. “Let’s just go,” he says, voice taut with the effort of staying upright and dealing with pain.

Will glances over at him sympathetically, and then they begin the long and arduous trek up approximately six flights of stairs. Once or twice Will stops to check that Ethan’s okay, and to let him rest. “I’m sorry,” Ethan says at one point, sounding very quiet. “I know I’m being a burden right now.”

“Ethan,” Will replies, his voice soft. He understands what the problem is here; Ethan is injured and unable to make it on his own, and it’s driving home the fact of his own mortality to him, something that he’s always been happy to ignore. Also, he’s very rarely been in this position – injured and needing help. He’s not dealing too well with it.

“Ethan,” repeats Will. “Look – you’re not a burden. You’re human, just like everyone else, okay? You’re allowed to be hurt, or to need help every once in a while. It’s _okay_. I mean, I’d say you’re not inconveniencing me right now, but then I’d be lying. Even then, I’d do this for you any time. And I know you’d do the same for me. You’ve always got my back, and I’ve always got yours, so if you ever need help, I’m here. Okay? Okay. So I don’t want to hear about how you’re being a burden, all right?”

There is a pause as Ethan thinks over Will’s words, a line between his eyebrows as he frowns in thought. Will watches him, knowing that it’s taking him some time to understand. After a lifetime of being the North Star that everyone relied on, it must feel strange as all hell to lean on someone else for a change.

Finally a slow, tired smile appears on Ethan’s face. “All right,” he says. And then (he’s never really boasted great timing, after all), “Marry me.”

Will just snorts. “Sure,” he says with a little laugh. “Let’s get you to the top first, yeah?”

Ethan opens his mouth to assure Will of his seriousness, but before he can do so he’s interrupted by the sound of helicopter blades whipping through the air, coming from overhead. He sighs to himself.

Always next time, right?

* * *

If it weren’t for the icy cold water assaulting him like a thousand icy needles in his skin, Ethan would be tempted to take a moment and indulge in a bout of nostalgia. This is how he met Will, after all, and it is being replayed right now in a much too real manner. Too real for Ethan’s liking, but then such is life. Sometimes you reminisce on your first meeting with your lover by drowning in a similar icy river as the one you met him in.

Ethan would sigh to himself, but then again he’s underwater.

And so is Will.

There’s no car this time, though – just the two of them thirty feet under, no air save for what’s already in their lungs, unable to swim to the surface because of the snipers lying in wait above. Ethan’s pretty sure that if either of them doesn’t find a way out soon – and soon as in, within a few moments – they’ll drown. There’s no getting out of this one unless some kind of divine intervention happens.

There’s a flurry of bubbles to his right and he turns his head to see Will gesticulating frantically towards something that he can’t quite make out. He frowns and makes the universal sign for _what???_ at Will, who makes a frustrated face back at him. Ethan has to resist the urge to laugh – Will’s cheeks are puffed out as he holds his breath, and so the frustrated expression looks quite comical, which kind of reduces its effect.

Will gestures again and points to his right, which is Ethan’s left, and Ethan squints, trying to make out what it is through the murky water. He gets it a moment later – a dark shape that looks unbelievably, amazingly, like the foundations of a bridge. He looks back to Will to find that the analyst is already preparing for the swim, and so Ethan does the same.

They have barely seconds left before they can’t hold their breaths any longer. They’ve only made it thus far thanks to the rigorous IMF training, but even then there’s only so much they can manage before having to give it up. So they hurry in the direction of the bridge, as fast as they can swim, propelling themselves forward with their feet.

Will gets there a nanosecond earlier than Ethan and immediately begins swimming upward, legs scissoring as he struggles to the surface. Ethan follows, and it’s hard because his lungs feel like they’re going to burst, his eyes are burning and his entire body feels numb and paralyzed. His vision is tunneling, black ringing the edges, and there is excruciating pain in his chest as he resists the urge to give up and open his mouth and inhale. He’s as good as dead if he does that, if he lets the water in, and he’s not going to let that happen.

Just as he feels like he’s going to black out, his head breaks the surface and almost involuntarily he opens his mouth and takes a great gasping breath, and it feels like he’s being born again, like his lungs just can’t get enough of the salty air, and the pain of being able to breathe again is the sweetest pain he’s known. His body is still freezing cold, shivering but no longer numb, and his vision is back to normal, and the only sign that he almost drowned is the throbbing ache in his head. In the most painful way possible, he feels alive, and immediately he puts _drowning_ on his _Top 10 Shittiest Ways to Die_ , somewhere in the top five along with _stomach wound_ and _punctured lungs_.

Besides him Will is supporting himself by bracing one hand against the brick wall of the bridge, taking deep breaths as well, his face red and eyes watering. They’re safe for now, hidden under the bridge where the snipers can’t see them, and Ethan wants to laugh at how they never even considered this while positioning themselves.

When he can speak again he says, “That was a tough one.” His voice comes out hoarse, his throat aching as well.

Will nods. “Yeah,” he says shortly, his voice hoarse as well. “But we made it.”

“Thanks to you,” Ethan tells him. “We’d have drowned if you hadn’t seen the bridge.”

Will utters a short, tired laugh. “Just like Moscow all over again,” he says, and he sounds fond, nostalgic even. “You remember?”

Ethan laughs as well. “Of course I do. The first time we met. Sidorov’s snipers.”

“You’d spotted the bridge that time,” Will remembers, with a smile. “Figured I’d return the favor.”

“Well, bridges are big,” Ethan points out, grinning. “Hard to miss.”

Will laughs again, and even though he’s tired and aching just as much as Ethan, it’s the most beautiful sound Ethan’s ever heard. Without any warning a warm wave of affection overcomes him, warming him from head to toe, so that it feels like he’s drowning again. But it’s a good feeling this time – it feels like he wants to drown in this, in _Will_ , for the rest of his life (however long that may be).

“I want to marry you,” he blurts out, and Will stops laughing abruptly. “Seriously,” Ethan adds, smiling wide.

Will smiles back, a little uncertainly. “O…kay?” he says, drawing out the first syllable. “I just spotted a bridge. Anyone would’ve.”

“No, it’s not the bridge,” begins Ethan. “It’s much more than the bridge—”

A gunshot rings out, and a bullet ricochets off the brick wall just near Will’s head, chipping it. Before either one of them can react, another bullet splashes into the water just two feet from Ethan.

“Fuck,” curses Will. “Look, the bridge is wide enough, we’ll be safe as long as we’re under it, just under the middle, okay? They can’t reach us there. Can you contact Jane or Benji?”

Ethan nods. They swim the few yards to the middle of the bridge, and then Ethan puts his fingers to the earpiece that somehow is miraculously still nestled in the shell of his ear. “Banner, Romanoff, come in. Banner, Romanoff, this is Rogers. Come in. Are you there? Over.”

He waits, and then there is a burst of static over his comms. Will looks inquisitively at him. Ethan notes that his earpiece is missing. Either it fried and Will threw it away, or else Will lost it while they were swimming. It doesn’t matter now, anyway; it’s gone.

“Rogers?” comes Benji’s voice over the comms. “Rogers, where are you? Is Barton with you?”

“Yeah, Barton’s with me,” Ethan says. “We’re at the river, okay? Under the bridge. Listen, you need to hurry, okay, we’re being shot at.”

“Shot at?” begins Jane incredulously. “How the hell did the snipers catch up with you?”

“Long story,” says Ethan. “Look, we don’t have much time, we need you to hurry. Clear?”

“Crystal,” sighs Jane. “Come on, Benji, let’s finish up here so we can go rescue the idiots.”

Ethan lets it slide, deciding to defend his intelligence later. “How long will it take?”

“Give us ten,” says Benji decisively. “Romanoff? Is ten okay?”

“Ten’s fine,” Jane says. “Now leave us alone, _Rogers_ , we’ve got work to do.” As always, she says the codename with a certain amount of derision. Ethan can hear Benji protesting just before the comms go off again.

“Romanoff? Barton? Banner?” Will looks torn between bemusement and mirth. “Seriously? And why am I Barton?”

“Hey, Barton’s cool,” says Ethan absently, trying to find a comfortable position to stay afloat in. They’re floating against one of the thick pillars holding the bridge up, their backs resting against the brick wall. “Also, he looks like you.”

“He does _not_ ,” insists Will. This is an age-old argument, one that shows no sign of ever ending and does not have a clear winner. “Honestly I don’t know where you get that from. He looks _nothing_ like me.”

“He does,” Ethan says, an amused grin forming on his face. “Benji and Jane agree with me.”

“Luther doesn’t,” Will retorts. “And I’m sure Zhen and Declan won’t either.”

“Ask them, then, I’m sure you’ll be proved wrong,” Ethan replies.

“If I was anyone, I’d be Stark,” Will says. “He’s smart.” He doesn’t mention the other things they have in common – the alcohol dependency (old, in Will’s case, but _technicalities_ ); the self-doubt; the difficulty in trusting anyone; parental issues; the crippling guilt, and other fun stuff.

Ethan must have read this on Will’s face, even though Will doesn’t say a word of it out loud. He’s pretty sure that it probably wasn’t very clear through his expression either, but over the course of the last five years, Ethan’s become some kind of champion at reading Will. It’s kind of impressive, seeing as Will’s had a lifetime to work on and perfect his pokerface as well as his _I am completely calm and composed and nothing bothers me_ face.

“Yeah,” says Ethan, and his voice is unbelievably gentle, expression soft as he looks at Will. “You’re smart. And you’re loyal, and you’d do anything for your team, and for what you believe. No matter what you’re feeling inside, you’ll always put it aside to help someone else. And you put your past behind you and overcame it, did you best to become a better person, someone everyone can rely on. Yeah, I think Stark is a pretty good fit.”

Will stares; there’s a lump in his throat and something prickling at the back of his eyeballs that feels suspiciously like oncoming tears. He’s not quite sure how to respond to Ethan’s speech, partly because it was unexpected, but mostly because it’s all of the stuff that he’s always found hard to believe about himself. He has to resist the urge to push himself off the wall and throw his arms around Ethan, but only because it will result in both of them creating a loud splash that will alert the snipers to their exact location.

So in the end he lets out a wet laugh and says, “And you always said you’re not into comic books.”

Ethan offers him a wry smile. “I must have absorbed something while Benji was chattering at me, all those years.”

“Ethan—”

“It’s all true,” Ethan interrupts. “Every word I said. This, everyone will agree with me on. Remember you told me I’m allowed to rely on others sometimes? I don’t have to be the leader all the time. In the same way, you’re allowed to have doubts too. Sometimes it’s okay if things are out of control. It’s okay to let go, you know. The world won’t end if you aren’t micromanaging it and simultaneously doubting yourself at every step.”

Will smiles again, this time sincerely. “I – thanks,” he says, deciding halfway into his sentence that arguing is pointless and also that maybe, just maybe, Ethan’s right. “Thank you.”

“Always,” Ethan replies, smiling back.  “Look, while we’re waiting for Benji and Jane to come rescue us, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What?” asks Will.

“I’ve tried talking to you about this before, actually,” Ethan tells him, “but you either didn’t take me seriously, or we were interrupted. So, now that we have a chance, I wanted to ask you—”

“YIPPEE KI YAY, MOTHERFUCKERS!” rings out a manic shout from somewhere overhead, and Ethan groans inwardly. Again, fucking _again_.

Will, on the other hand, looks amused. “Is that—?”

“Jane,” completes Ethan in a long-suffering tone. “I told you giving her the _Die Hard_ series DVD box set for Christmas was a bad idea.”

* * *

The bulky, menacing man of unknown Eurasian heritage glared down menacingly at both of them. “Is one of you going to tell me the passcode or do I have to break more bones?” he asks in a coarse voice, his accent thick but unrecognizable.

“I told you, we don’t know the passcode,” Ethan says in his politest, most placating, _we don’t know anything please let us go_ tone. “Breaking bones will get you nowhere.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” the man growled.

Will coughs, a weak rasping sound, and Ethan’s alarm spikes. “Look,” he says, speaking rapidly, “that stuff’s classified, okay? I haven’t got the clearance level for it, and he doesn’t either. You’ve got the wrong guys.”

“Even if that’s true,” says the man, “I’m sure that one of you knows someone somewhere who can lead me to it. Is that correct?”

Ethan doesn’t answer, which the man takes as an affirmative. “I see,” he says idly, as if considering his next move. “So all I have to do is get the information out of you, yes?”

“I’m telling you,” Ethan begins, “you’ve got the wrong—”

The man brings his knee up and then down rapidly, smashing the heel of his heavy, military-issue boots into Will’s left knee. Will screams, beads of sweat standing out against his pale skin as he curls in on himself in an effort to shut out the agony.

“Stop!” yells Ethan. “Get away from him!” He struggles valiantly against the bonds holding him to the chair, but it’s no use, he’s bound tightly and securely and has no chance of getting free without a sharp object to aid him.

The man grins smugly at Ethan. “Tell me what I want to know and I won’t hurt him,” he offers. Will is curled at his feet, breathing heavily, small whimpers on his breath. It’s obvious from the way his leg is limp that his knee is broken.

“I don’t have anything for you,” Ethan tries, feeling helpless for the first time in a long time. Will’s in pain, and there’s nothing he can _do_ , he can’t even comfort him, let alone stop the agony, and the only other time he has ever felt this useless is when he thought Julia was in front of him with a charge in her brain. “Please, _please_ , just—”

The man sighs in frustration, and then squats next to Will. “What about you?” he asks. “Do you have anything?”

Will doesn’t answer, instead opting to close his eyes tightly, as if both the man and the pain he’s caused will go away by doing that.

“Because if you do,” the man continues, “and you don’t tell me, I’ll be forced to hurt your partner.”

Will’s eyes fly open. “No,” he breathes, “that’s not necessary. You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, that depends,” the man tells him. “Do you have something to tell me?”

Will nods, looking absolutely miserable. “I have a name,” he offers, voice weak and scratchy with agony. “Mark— Mark West. He’s – he’s in charge of it, okay? He changes the passcode every month, and he’s the only one who can do that. Biometric data, enough that it’s impossible to fake.”

The man looks delighted. “Excellent! Can you tell me where he lives?”

“I don’t know that,” Will says, breathing in rapid bursts. “And he doesn’t have an office. That would be too easy to locate.”

Abruptly the man gets to his feet. “Too bad,” he says shortly, and without warning takes a swing at Ethan, who has no time to brace himself and goes flying backwards, chair hitting the ground hard and splintering. The heavy rings on the man’s fingers split open his lip and his eyebrow, as well as creating a sizeable scrape on his cheekbone. He lets out a muffled yell, heart thudding in his chest as he tries to get the pain under control.

“Stop it!” Will yells from his corner, voice remarkably strong considering the state he’s in. “I told you what you wanted to know!”

“You gave me a name,” corrects the man, wiping his rings on his jeans. “Doesn’t matter. I can go from there.” Without anything further he turns and makes his exit, clanging the door shut. There is a click of a lock a second later, and then the sound of receding footsteps.

Will waits until it’s quiet outside before turning his head towards Ethan and saying softly, “I’m sorry. I – I didn’t think he’d hit you.”

“I’ve had worse,” Ethan says, wincing as he tries to raise himself on his elbows.

“That – that isn’t helping,” Will says with a short derisive laugh. Then he winces. “Fuck, I’m pretty sure I’ve got a couple of broken ribs. And the knee,” he adds.

“I’m sorry about that,” Ethan tells him miserably, pausing in his efforts to get upright again. “Shit, I mean, he went at you so much more than me.”

“Good,” says Will, as fiercely as he can manage. “Better me than you.”

“Don’t say that,” snaps Ethan. “My life is no more valuable than yours, you hear?”

“Don’t care,” says Will shortly. “If just one of us gets to walk out of this fucking shithole, I’d rather it was you.”

“It’s either both of us, or neither of us,” says Ethan decisively. Will looks like he’s about to disagree, but then something catches his eye and he stops. “What is it?” asks Ethan.

“Your chair’s broken,” Will points out. “We’re no longer absolutely defenseless.”

“Shit, you’re right!” Ethan exclaims. His hands are bound behind his back, and he uses them to fumble about in the wreckage, hissing when his skin comes into contact with tiny splinters. He gets his hand on a sharp, six inch piece of chair, and forces it between his wrists, moving it in a sawing motion.

“How are we gonna get out of here?” questions Will while Ethan works. “I mean, me with my leg and all.”

“I’ll carry you if I have to,” Ethan says, voice heaving with exertion.

Will snorts weakly. “This is totally payback for the gang gunfight, isn’t it?” he accuses.

Ethan pauses to smile at his partner. “Why would you think that?” he asks innocently, before resuming.

“Shut up,” says Will, but he’s laughing.

“So,” Ethan says when the lighthearted moment’s passed. “Mark West?”

“Doesn’t exist,” Will tells him with a wry grin. “He’s an IMF data security trick. Means if anyone enters that name into a database for whatever reason, an alarm goes off within the IMF, and the Secretary and Director are both alerted. Then IT traces the location where the database hit came from, and sends a team ASAP.”

Ethan blinks, impressed. “That’s… wow,” he says, and Will laughs a little at his awestruck expression. “You’re telling me you just made the guy send out an SOS for us?”

Will nods. “Basically. It’ll still take time for a team to get to us, though. A day at least.”

Ethan’s own relieved smile fades. “Anything could happen in a day.”

“I know,” Will replies. “So we just have to stay alive that long, I guess.”

An apprehensive silence follows Will’s statement. Instead of thinking too much about the implications, Ethan begins his sawing anew with more determination. It takes him about twenty minutes to cut through the ropes in his wrists, and with a cry of triumph he rips off the fragmented duct tape and rubs the circulation back in his wrists. “God, that feels good,” he sighs. “You don’t know how important wrist mobility is till you get tied up and can’t feel your fingers anymore.”

Will laughs again, sounding weaker than before. It kills Ethan’s mood in a nanosecond, and quietly but quickly he gets the duct tape off his legs before crawling over to Will, bending over him. “Will?” he says softly, putting a hand on Will’s face. “Are you—?”

“I’m okay,” interrupts Will with a cough. “Just… getting a bit hard to breathe, is all.”

Alarmed and suspecting the worst, Ethan lowers his head to Will’s chest and listens, and sure enough his fears are confirmed. “Your lung’s punctured,” he tells Will. “We need to get out of here _fast_ , Will, you need help.”

“You go,” Will rasps. “No, listen,” he begins when Ethan opens his mouth to protest, “I can’t, okay? This isn’t like a bullet wound where you can carry me out of here like – like I did for you.” He pauses for breath, chest heaving, Ethan’s tension and fear increasing with every second that passes. “I’ve got broken ribs and a knee, and my lung’s busted. I’d just – weigh you down, Ethan, I’d be a _literal_ burden. If we both go, we both die. But you alone – you can make it.”

“I’m _not_ going without you,” Ethan snaps furiously, “and don’t you for a _second_ think it! It’s not happening, Will, it’ll _never_ happen, and you better get that through your dense fucking skull right the fuck _now_. We’re a _team_ , and more than that, we’re _partners_ —”

“A lot of fucking good it’ll do if we both die!” retorts Will, face turning an alarming shade of pink as he struggles to breathe. “Look, you still have a chance, you can still _live_ —”

“I don’t fucking _want_ to!” Ethan shouts, both hands grabbing Will’s collar. He’d shake sense into Will if he could, God knows he desperately wants to, but with Will’s injuries it’s the worst thing he could do right now. “Have you ever considered that? I don’t want to live, not without you, you fucking _idiot_!”

Will opens his mouth, shock written clearly all over his features, then closes it again. Ethan laughs mirthlessly. “What, you’re telling me that the five years we’ve been together have not given you any indication of that?”

Will blinks, face pale now. Ethan can’t tell if that’s because of his declaration, or because of Will’s injuries. Probably a bit of both. “Ethan, are you – do you – _seriously_?” he asks, clearly struggling for something to say. “Me? Why—”

Ethan laughs again, sounding every bit as helpless and desperate as he feels. “Because I fucking love you, I thought we’d established that a long time ago.”

“No, yeah, we definitely did,” Will says, “only I didn’t think that extended to your entire life. I mean – _me_? Of all people?”

“You, of all people,” Ethan confirms. “And why not? You’re _perfect_.”

Will grins and coughs, and Ethan’s horrified to see specks of blood on his lips. “Think you might be a little biased,” he rasps out. “God, my chest hurts,” he adds with a grimace.

“Will, you’re coughing up blood, _fuck_ , we have to get out of here, we have to get help—” Ethan knows he’s rambling, something quite uncharacteristic of him, but in his panicked state he can’t help it. He rarely ever gets panicked – that’s something else that’s uncharacteristic of him – but right now he can’t stop it from taking over, flooding his brain, because _Will is dying in front of him and there’s nothing he can do_.

“Ethan,” cuts in Will, “shut _up_.” He waits till Ethan complies, and then says, “You have to _go_. I can’t make it, Ethan.”

“No,” counters Ethan stubbornly. “I’m not leaving without you, Will.” He reaches out and clasps one of Will’s hands in both of his. “I can’t, okay?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Will says, his breathing rate increasing by the second as he pales further, the blood on his lips contrasting brightly with his skin. His temperature’s rising and talking is rapidly becoming harder, but he seems determined to say his bit, to convince Ethan.

There are tears welling up in Ethan’s eyes now; he can’t help it. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this helpless before, this is far beyond what he’d felt during the entire Davian debacle. Back then he’d had something to do, even after he thought Julia was dead; he had _revenge_. Now, though, now there’s nothing he can do but watch the person he loves the most in the entire world die slowly and painfully in front of him. He _hates_ it, hates himself, hates their captor, hates the universe and IMF and Brassel, and everyone he can think of who’s responsible for this happening.

“I can’t leave you,” he repeats, voice breaking on the last syllable. “Will, I _can’t_. Please don’t make me live without you, I won’t be able to.”

“You’ve _got_ to,” Will insists, even though there are already tears streaming down the sides of his face and into his hair.

“Would you, if it was me who was hurt?” asks Ethan angrily, fingers clenching Will’s hand tighter.

There is a sad smile on Will’s face. “Never,” he admits in a whisper.

“There’s your bloody answer, then,” Ethan tells him, and his voice does not waver.

There’s silence for a few moments, and then Will says, voice so weak it hurts just to hear, “Five years… not enough time.”

Ethan lets out a hoarse laugh at the phrase, his mind returning to Dubai when they’d first met, and Will’s refrain of “not enough time” that had been so irritating back then. “No,” he disagrees softly. “It’s… Will, I’m grateful that we even had that much.”

“I wanted more,” Will says regretfully. “I wanted… a lifetime.”

_Or as long as our jobs would allow, which it seems was just five years after all_ , Ethan thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud. Will’s probably thinking the same, anyway. Instead he says, “If, by some far-off miracle, we both make it out of here alive, I’m going to marry you.”

Will actually laughs at that, more tears spilling into his hair. “Jesus,” he says, wheezing a little. “Your timing… fucking sucks.”

Ethan laughs too, inadvertently thinking of his mother and Uncle Don and all those other people. “I’ve been told that,” he says with a smile down at Will.

“It’s true,” Will tells him, still laughing weakly. “But yeah. Yeah. I’ll – I’ll marry you. If we make it out.”

A sudden thought hits Ethan amid his short-lived rush of ecstasy. “You knew all along, didn’t you? That I was serious,” he accuses. “Every time I asked.”

“Yeah,” confirms Will, and now Ethan has to strain to hair his voice. “I was – I was scared. But,” he adds, looking up at Ethan. “I’m not anymore.”

“Good,” whispers Ethan fiercely.

Instead of replying, Will closes his eyes, smile still on his face. Ethan waits a moment for him to say something, but then Will’s hand drops out of his, and he begins panicking again. “Will? _Will!_ Wake up, wake _up_! You can’t die on me, you hear? Fucking _shit_ , Will—”

Frantically he lowers his head to Will’s chest again, and almost collapses in relief when his ears catch Will’s faint heartbeat and labored breathing. Will’s alive, just unconscious – but he won’t be for long, not if Ethan doesn’t do something, not if he can’t get them out _soon_.

The thought fills him with a searing hot determination and he stands, ignoring the ache in all of his body. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers to an unresponsive Will, before steeling himself and running at the locked wooden door, ramming his shoulder into it. It groans and creaks, splintering a little, and Ethan draws back to aim a devastating kick near the lock. It smashes halfway on his first try, and on the second, breaks apart completely, and Ethan is free.

And furious as all hell unleashed.

It takes him no more than a minute to incapacitate the two men he finds patrolling the corridor. He grabs a gun off one of them and runs off, knocking down whoever is in his way. His vision is almost entirely blood-red now, and he feels insatiable, like he could beat up a thousand people and it still wouldn’t be enough to fulfill his bloodlust, to atone for what they’ve done to Will. He doesn’t wait to see if anyone’s alive after he’s done with them, which is a radical departure from his previous _don’t kill unless absolutely necessary_ philosophy.

Not a single man gets up again, after he’s done with them.

He finds their captor in a room right at the end of the long corridor, sitting at a desk poring over some kind of blueprint. He’s alone in the room, which makes him that much easier to deal with. Ethan crashes in, not giving a shit that he’s making enough noise to raise the dead.

The man’s mouth falls open into a perfectly round O of surprise when he sees Ethan, and it would’ve been comical if it had been any other situation. Ethan doesn’t bother with words; none are required. Instead he simply aims his stolen gun and fires off two quick shots at the man’s kneecaps, paying no mind to his scream of agony. “That’s for Will, you bastard,” he snarls, before aiming at the man’s chest. For a few seconds it really feels like he’ll shoot – it feels _righteous_ , that this man should die for what he’s done to them, for taking Will away from Ethan. It feels righteous, but it doesn’t feel _right_.

_Don’t kill unless absolutely necessary._

He takes two steps forward, and takes a moment to delight in the look of utter terror on the man’s face, before bringing his gun up and driving the butt hard into the man’s face, knocking him out instantly. IMF can deal with him.

The rush fades from his senses and immediately his mind returns to Will. Cursing himself for wasting time, he turns on his heels and runs out into the corridor again. He’s pretty sure there’s got to be a doctor of some kind in this place, someone who can keep Will alive till an extraction team gets here. After all, the man had to have someone around who’d make sure his victims didn’t die of the wounds he inflicted, at least not before he could get information that he wanted. The thought makes Ethan a little sick.

Sure enough he comes to a door with a plus sign on it, halfway between the man’s room and the small cell where they were held. Throwing it open, gun held out and aimed at the ready, Ethan shouts, “Are you the doctor?” at its solitary inhabitant.

The old white man nods, tufty white hair flying. “I doctor,” he confirms in broken English, gazing at Ethan in surprise. “Who?” he asks, pointing to Ethan.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ethan says shortly, not putting down his gun. “Come on, I need your help, and I need it _fast_.”

The doctor nods and gets to his feet with a speed that’s quite surprising for someone his age. “Lead way,” he says decisively, grabbing his bag, and Ethan obeys.

A minute later he watches as the man rushes to Will’s side, falling to his knees and immediately checking Will’s pulse. “Alive,” he tells Ethan. “You stay out of way. I fix.” And with that, he ushers Ethan away, making sure he’s a safe distance away before turning back to Will.

Ethan watches as the man pulls out things from his bag, odds and ends that Ethan can’t make sense of, and begins working on Will. He tries not to be sick when he thinks of how it might be too late to save Will.

There is no next time now.

* * *

Will comes to with a soft groan, and is immediately aware of two things. One, that his entire body hurts; and two, that he is not alone. Someone is holding his hand and rubbing their thumb softly across his knuckles, whispering words he can’t understand. Going by the familiar pattern of calluses, it’s Ethan.

Really, who else would it be anyway?

Will opens his eyes and attempts to speak, but what comes out instead is a hoarse cough – his throat feels unimaginably dry. Immediately the comforting motions on his hand stop and withdraw, and a second later Ethan is pushing ice chips through his lips. “Easy, Will,” he says softly, smiling down at him. “Take it slow, sweetheart. Easy. There you go. You’re okay.”

Will nods and tries to smile back reassuringly, rolling the ice chip around in his mouth as it melts. He must succeed to some degree, as Ethan nods and sits back down, taking Will’s hand again and resuming his previous ministrations.

“Hey,” Will rasps when he can speak.

“Hey,” responds Ethan, smiling gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Will chuckles, closing his eyes. “How bad is it?”

“Three broken ribs, right lung punctured and left knee fractured,” Ethan tells him. “Nothing they couldn’t fix though. You’re not going to be walking around or exerting yourself too much, but you’ll be fine.” He says the last three words like a prayer.

Will turns his hand, curling his fingers around Ethan’s. “And you?” The cuts on Ethan’s face have closed up, and some look half-healed already. He looks healthy and whole, but Will’s not going to rest till he hears it for himself and knows for sure.

“I’m okay,” Ethan tells him, and he relaxes. “Just a few cuts and scrapes. Nowhere near as bad as you.”

Will squeezes his fingers as firmly as he can manage. “Good,” he whispers. “Where’s Jane? And Benji?”

“Back in DC,” Ethan tells him. “They wanted to stay with you but Brassel recalled them back to HQ immediately.”

Will nods, and closes his eyes. “How long was I out?”

“It’s been four days,” he hears Ethan reply. “Surgery was yesterday. They say you’re going to have to stay for some more time, but you should be okay to fly home soon. You’ll have to do physio, though, for your knee.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Will replies, opening his eyes.

“Do you remember what happened?” Ethan asks. “Before you passed out?”

Will nods, and grins. “There was a lot of yelling, and somewhere in between I think you asked me to marry you. No – you decided without asking me that we were going to get married.”

“You agreed,” Ethan reminds him with a snort.

“Of course I did,” Will says at once.

Ethan smiles again, before withdrawing his hand from Will’s and putting it in his pocket. Will watches him, looking amused but also a little apprehensive. Inadvertently Ethan’s mind goes back to the small, damp and dark room, with Will lying flat on the ground, telling him he’d been scared. Still, it’s too late to back down now, so Ethan withdraws his hand and holds the ring out to Will.

Will blinks. “You got a _ring_.”

“I did,” Ethan confirms. “A long time ago. I just couldn’t figure out how to give it to you.”

“So you thought that a hospital bed was a good place as any?” snorts Will, but he doesn’t look apprehensive anymore. Instead, his entire demeanor seems to have changed, to have _lifted_ somehow, like he’s the most content he’s been in forever. Which makes _no_ sense, seeing as he’s in a hospital bed (like he so aptly pointed out just a moment ago), and is recuperating from a terrifying set of injuries that so nearly had been fatal.

But he still looks happy.

Ethan grins and shrugs. “I figured I might not get another chance,” he says honestly. “Seeing as how I nearly lost you – _again_ – and all that.”

Will reaches out and takes the ring, slipping it on. “It fits,” he says, sounding surprised.

“Of course it fits,” Ethan says, trying (and failing) not to sound affronted. “Are you implying I don’t know your ring size?”

“That’s exactly what I’m implying,” Will replies, “seeing as I don’t wear rings.”

“Would you believe me if I said I guessed?”

“No, because for something this big you’d go with more than just a guess.”

“Okay, you got me,” sighs Ethan, giving in with a grin. “Do you remember that mission where you had to be a fake mafia leader, and Benji said you should wear those thick rings? For more authenticity, he said?”

Will nods. “Don’t tell me you—”

“I did,” Ethan confirms somewhat sheepishly before Will can finish. “I found them in the back of the closet, actually. I didn’t know you’d kept them.”

“I must have put them there and forgotten,” muses Will, and then yawns.

“You should go back to sleep,” Ethan says at once. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” protests Will. “I’m not sleepy.” The effect is somewhat ruined by yet another yawn.

“Sure you are,” Ethan says with a sarcastic snort. “Just _sleep_ , Will,” he adds when Will looks like he’s going to argue. “I’ll be here when you wake up, we can talk then. I’m not going anywhere, remember?”

Will rolls his eyes, though his expression is fond. “Yeah, I remember,” he says softly. “And Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going anywhere, either.”

Ethan smiles. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact- that bit about what it's like to drown? Personal experience. Don't go into the deep side of the pool when you're not ready, kids. It'll fuck you up and scar you for life.
> 
> Seeing as I spent a majority of my waking hours writing this while sneezing and suffering through a fever and headache (yay, allergies!), I'd really appreciate it if you guys would drop by a comment. It'd honestly make my entire _week_.
> 
> As always, take care!  
> Love,  
> Remy x
> 
> (PS: LOOK AT MY AVENGERS REFERENCE HAHAHAA I MENTIONED BARTON LOOK AT HOW CLEVER AND WITTY AND ORIGINAL I AM ~~i'm so sorry i couldn't resist the reference was too hilarious to pass up pls ignore me~~ )


	17. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will returns to his hometown - and his past - for his father's funeral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm warning you all now, this is some heavy shit. A lot of dark shit is dealt with in this chapter. If that's not your thing and you don't want to read it, well, I will completely understand.
> 
> **Warnings:** child abuse and neglect, child sexual abuse, alcoholism, physical and verbal abuse, violence, and homophobic language and attitudes. Seriously, if any of this stuff is triggering, don't read this chapter. I've kinda scared myself here, to be honest; this was challenging as fuck to write.

Will's shrill ringtone is what wakes Ethan up on a lazy Sunday morning in June, far before his own body clock. Annoyed at having to move far before he has any real desire to do so, he extricates his arm from under his torso and pokes Will in the arm. "Either answer it or shut it off," he grumbles. 

Will just mumbles something incomprehensible and rolls over so that he's facing away from Ethan. The phone stops ringing, and Ethan only has a second or so to feel relief when it starts up again.

"Dammit, Will, if it's HQ tell them to go fuck themselves," says Ethan irritably, poking Will again, this time in the side.

Will stirs and turns, glaring sleepily at Ethan. "Why are you poking me-" he begins, and then sighs. " _Fine_ , I'll pick up the damn phone."

Ethan catches a glimpse of the screen as Will snatches it off the side table, cursing colorfully under his breath. It simply says _Unknown Number_. Hoping hope against hope that it isn't IMF - he is in no mood for work - he watches as Will picks up and begins with a "Who the _hell-"_

Then he freezes, all the color draining out of his face. He keeps the phone to his ear for a couple seconds longer, lips pressed together in a tight line, staring at nothing in particular, and then he hangs up and tosses it aside like it's burning him.

There is a nervous knot in Ethan's gut. "Who was it? What did they say?"

Will blinks out of his reverie and turns to look at Ethan. "It was my mother," he says, voice carefully devoid of any emotion. "My dad died last night."

Ethan stares, not sure he’s heard right. “Your _mother_.”

Will nods. “Yeah,” he says numbly.

“How did she get your number?” wonders Ethan, closely watching Will for signs of… hell, he has no idea what he’s watching for. Will’s parents have always hated him and he’s always disliked them right back. His father is single-handedly responsible for most of the trauma Will’s faced during childhood. Ethan honestly has no idea how Will’s going to respond to news of his death - with indifference, or distress?

“No fucking idea.” Will abruptly throws his phone aside and untangles himself from Ethan’s legs and their sheets, getting out of bed and striding towards the bathroom. Ethan scrambles to follow him, to see if he’s okay, but Will’s already shut and locked the door by the time Ethan gets there.

Locked the door.

Something he hasn’t done in years now.

Ethan stands in front of the door and wonders what the hell he’s going to do now.

* * *

It takes Will forty minutes to shower - a half hour more than his usual shower time. Ethan doesn’t bother knocking and asking to enter - even if he has no idea what Will’s feeling, he _does_ know it’s important for Will to have his space. Will probably has no idea of his feelings either, and he needs time to figure it out. And well, if he’s decided to waste their hot water while doing it… nothing Ethan can do about it short of kicking in the door. 

Which he’s not going to do, of course.

So he washes his face in the bathroom in the hall, returns to their room and sits down on the bed with his phone, patiently waiting for Will to exit the bathroom. He briefly considers texting Luther or Jane for tips on how to deal with this, but he’s not sure how a text reading _WILL’S DAD IS DEAD AND WILL IS REACTING FUNNY SEND HELP_ will be received. Probably not well.

Will finally leaves the bathroom. He doesn’t look any different, and Ethan’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Cautiously he stands and says, “Hey, you all right?”

Will nods at him, offering him a small, strained smile. “I - yeah. Sorry. Just needed to think.”

Ethan puts his hands on the sides of Will’s neck, smiles back reassuringly. “It’s all right,” he says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” Will replies, circling Ethan’s wrists with his hands and squeezing as if to emphasize his point. “I just… I don’t know if I should go or not. My mother just told me he’s dead and it was a heart attack. She didn’t mention a funeral or anything.”

“Do you want to?” It slips out before Ethan can stop himself. _Stupid_ , he curses himself. Why would Will want to attend his dad’s funeral when the man did nothing for him?

“I don’t know,” admits Will. “I mean, I owe the guy absolutely _nothing_ , but at the same time I feel like I should be there, you know? If only to acknowledge that he was my father, if nothing else. I know it’s probably pointless,” he adds when Ethan opens his mouth to say something, “and I know that he probably died hating me. But I don’t think I would be… okay with myself if I didn’t go.”

“So you’re going,” Ethan says, just to make sure.

Will inhales, looking like he’s steeling himself, and then nods. “Yeah. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he adds.

Ethan snorts lightly, stroking the skin under Will’s jaw with his thumbs. “Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll come.”

Will leans in and rests their foreheads together, exhaling long and slow, his breath warm and minty on Ethan’s face. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Don’t be silly,” Ethan repeats, and smiles softly at Will. “I wouldn’t leave you alone for something like that. Just like you’d do the same for me.”

“Always,” promises Will. 

* * *

 

They set off that afternoon. HQ was remarkably lenient about letting them go for a couple of days, especially after Ethan quietly told Brassel why they were leaving. He calls Jane and Benji while Will packs, and apprises them of the situation as well. 

Finally they’re both in the car - they’re taking the Ghibli - and Will is silent and brooding in the passenger seat, staring out the window as they leave behind the buildings and traffic and life of Washington DC for more open roads. Ethan glances at him out of the corner of his eye every now and then as he drives, and once or twice he opens his mouth to say something before closing it again and turning it back to the road. He’s not sure what he can possibly say that won’t sound ridiculous in this situation. “Sorry your dad died” isn’t going to cut it at all - neither of them is particularly sorry that the world has one less asshole in it, after all.

It’s Will who puts a stop to it, by shooting Ethan a wry smile and saying, “You can just say it, you know. No need to dance around it or worry about my feelings or whatever.” 

Ethan smiles a little as well. “All right, then. I was thinking that I don’t know what to say to you about this.”

“Why do you feel as if you have to say anything?” Will replies with a small shrug, leaning back in his seat to look out of the windshield at the world passing them by. “Seriously, you don’t. It’s not like I’m wailing in distress, is it?” 

“I’d be concerned if you were,” Ethan snorts.

Will grins. “Exactly.” But it’s half-hearted and even though he’s doing his best to talk and banter and keep up his light demeanor, Ethan can tell there’s still something on his mind. Something is still bothering him, and while it’s completely up to Will whether he chooses to divulge or not, Ethan would prefer that he did. It would be much better than having it fester inside him, especially as they’ll be in an unwelcome (and unwelcoming as well) environment that Will would normally amputate his own legs before stepping foot in.

Will sighs, pulling Ethan from his thoughts. “Just say it, Ethan.”

“Okay.” Ethan sits up a little straighter, makes sure the road is empty and there’s no car behind them, and then turns his head sideways to look at Will. “Something is bothering you, and while it’s entirely your choice whether you let me know or not, I still _do_ want to know.”

“Of course something is bothering me,” Will replies, turning to raise an incredulous eyebrow at Ethan. “I’m going back to the ninth circle of Hell, Ethan. I swore to myself I’d never come back here no matter what, and yet all it takes is one phone call.” 

“So why _are_ you going?” asks Ethan. “Look, babe, I got to ask - if it’s out of some misguided sense of duty, or obligation or whatever-”

“There’s no _misguided sense of duty_ ,” Will replies with a snort. “And no _obligation_ either. I told you, I just feel like I should at least acknowledge that he was my dad, no matter how much of a shitty one he was. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t.”

“Will, he _wasn’t_ a dad, he wasn’t more than a sperm donor,” Ethan says incredulously. “He doesn’t deserve even that much!”

“I know that!” Will doesn’t snap, but it’s a close thing. There is a definite edge in his voice when he continues after a deep breath that probably should calm him but doesn’t, “I _know_ that, Ethan. After fucking decades of my life ruined by that guy, I am well-aware of this. I’m not saying I’m somehow validating his - his behavior or you know, going back to my roots or whatever the fuck, Ethan. I just want to see the guy put in the ground, _like I’ve been wishing my entire childhood_ , and then come back and close that chapter of my life. Okay?”

There is a silence following Will’s outburst, and suddenly Ethan feels guilty for even having pushed Will that far. It’s not every day that Will lets go of his composure enough to all but shout like that, and besides - Ethan _knows_ Will’s childhood is a sensitive topic with him. He should have stuck to the original plan of giving Will his space.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his knuckles almost white on the steering wheel as he grips it. “I went too far.”

All the fight seems to go out of Will; he deflates, melting into the car seat, and turns his head to look at Ethan again. “It’s fine,” he sighs. “You didn’t, really. I’m just… touchy about this. I mean, it’s my dad, right? When I was a kid I used to hope and pray that either he’d die or I would, and now that it’s finally happened, I’m not… I don’t feel relieved, or - or happy or anything. I don’t feel _anything_. And I don’t know how to feel about that.” He quirks his lips in a small, mocking smile, directed at himself.

Ethan takes one hand off the steering wheel to put it over Will’s, on his knee. “Maybe,” he suggests quietly, “you don’t _have_ to feel anything about this.”

Will turns his hand and intertwines their fingers, his apology for the outburst clear in the gesture. “Maybe you’re right,” he replies just as quietly.

* * *

It’s twilight when they arrive at a small town that could have been literally _anywhere_ in the country, nondescript and with no identifying marker in Ethan’s mind except that _Where Will Was Born_.

Will’s hands tighten on the steering wheel when the first tiny building appears on the horizon, and Ethan looks askance at him. Will took over the wheel a few hours ago and had been more or less okay, right until now. They talked and they listened to the radio and they stopped for snacks, Ethan eating a salad and bitching about the giant bag of gummy bears Will purchased for himself. 

And now Will is staring out the window, not even returning Ethan’s gaze, knuckles so tight on the wheel they’re trembling from exertion, his lips pressed into a thin line. The car slows down, almost imperceptibly, but Ethan’s watching the speedometer and there is a definite decrease in speed, almost like Will wants to delay his arrival as much as possible.

“Slowing it down won’t make it any less bad,” Ethan says gently, reaching out to pry Will’s hands loose from the steering wheel, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb. “Look, it’s not still too late to turn back, okay? You don’t have to do this to yourself.”

Will blinks, seemingly coming to his senses, and turns to look at Ethan, his face pale. “No, yeah, I know,” he replies, taking one hand off the wheel to grip at Ethan’s. “But I’ll be fine. I think.”

“If it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me,” Ethan says, squeezing his fingers. “Just remember that you’re not alone, okay? I’m with you, every step of the way.”

Will offers him a strained smile. “I know.”

They stay quiet after that; Will drives, and Ethan looks out the window, takes in the town around them, and all the while their hands remain joined. Will seems to be calming down, marginally - his breathing is easier and his grip on the wheel is more or less normal. He still looks pale though, but that’s to be expected.

All Ethan can see, when he looks out of the window, is _A Place Will Went_ and _A Diner Will Might’ve Eaten At_ and perhaps, _A Place Will Liked_ or _A Place Will Hated_. There is a burning curiosity inside of him that makes him want to ask Will about all these places passing them by, to find out where Will used to go, where he used to hang out, where he used to escape to when his home became too much. But Will’s lips are still a thin line and the set of his shoulders is steel-hard, and Ethan knows that nothing good will come out of him reliving his past any more than he has to. Especially when it can be avoided.

Besides, thinks Ethan, as he sees an old, decrepit high school building pass them by, some things should stay firmly in the past and never come out. Things like broken homes and blood and pain and a deep, pervading wish to either leave or die, just to escape.

So he remains silent and he keeps his grip on Will’s hand firm and reassuring, and when they finally turn into a driveway leading to a farmhouse, Ethan brings Will’s hand to his lips and offers him a soft smile before finally letting go.

The old farmhouse was red once, a long time ago, perhaps even before Will was born, but now it’s a dull pink-brown color, visible in between the cracks of peeling paint. The grass surrounding it is overgrown, and Ethan has no doubt that if he steps in it, it will come up to his knees at least, if not his waist. There is a rusty tractor standing in the grass, one that hasn’t been used in ages if the grass growing through the wheels is anything to go by, as well as the cats all over it. The corner of a shed of some kind peeks out from behind the far wall of the farmhouse, but that too looks unused in ages and Ethan has no wish to find out what kind of mutant fungus has managed to grow in it in that time.

There are a few people milling about the door, all dressed in black, all in their sixties and seventies. Ethan glances at Will to see if there is any kind of recognition on his face, but Will’s face is a carefully composed mask of indifference. It looks as if he couldn’t care less about what’s going on, but then he reaches out and his fingers touch the back of Ethan’s hand - getting the message, Ethan takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, and together they walk the few short steps up to the porch.

The people, an even mix of grandmas and grandpas, all stop their hushed talking when they see Will and Ethan approaching, hands joined. Will’s face is still a mask but Ethan is well-aware of the defiant expression on his, a challenge for one of them to say something. The message is well received and no one says a word, though there is more than a little of scandalized whispering and staring in disbelief. Ethan can’t make out if it’s just because they’re holding hands, or because these people have recognized Will.

He gets his answer a moment later, when an old man nearing at least ninety steps forward, leaning heavily on a cane, and smiles a bright, toothless smile up at Will. “William!” he wheezes in greeting, and leans forward so far that for a moment Ethan’s scared he’s going to topple over. “Haven’t seen you around these parts in ages, boy!”

Will looks surprised, but he does his best to smile back anyway. “That’s on purpose,” he answers the old man. “How are you doing, Mr. Freeman?”

“Oh, you know, a little up, a little down,” dismisses the old man - Mr. Freeman. “But look at you, you’re all grown up!”

The other old people are watching the exchange with interested expressions, and Ethan knows that they may all disapprove of Will but that doesn’t mean they’re not intrigued by him and what he’s been up to all these years. Some of them are muttering among themselves, but it’s nothing he can distinguish, and besides, he doesn’t care, anyway.

“What have you been up to all these years?” Mr. Freeman is asking Will, poking him in the stomach with his free hand.

“Uh, a lot,” is Will’s vague answer; he’s beginning to look a little uncomfortable at the attention.

Mr. Freeman shakes his head fondly. “Still a smartass, boy,” he says affectionately, chuckling, the sound very much similar to that of a sputtering car engine. Ethan stifles a snort, and before he has time to feel horrified at this lapse in manners (his mother raised him right after all), Mr. Freeman’s attention is on him. “Who are you?” the old man asks curiously, blinking owlishly at Ethan through his thick glasses that magnify his eyes to unnatural proportions.

At this question, every single person on the porch goes silent and looks expectantly at Ethan. “I’m, er,” he begins, unsure of what he can say that won’t result in some kind of clusterfuck.

“We’re married,” Will announces, holding up their joined hands so that the ring is visible, glinting in the late evening sun. It’s almost sundown by now, and getting darker by the minute, but the silver gleams brightly, as if drawing even more attention to Will’s statement.

There is a stunned silence. Mr. Freeman looks like he’s going to open his mouth and continue talking – what he’s going to say, Ethan isn’t sure he really wants to know – but before he can do so, Will tugs lightly at Ethan’s hand and says, “It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Freeman. Please excuse me.” Then, without a backwards glance, he leads Ethan into the house.

Ethan’s first impression is _how can anyone live in this house and not fear for their lives?!_ It appears even older than the outside of the building, and is in a clear state of disrepair. The dirty emerald carpet is threadbare and has cigarette burns in it, and the walls have dark stains on them that Ethan has no wish to identify. There is a thin layer of dust on almost every surface, and besides Ethan, Will wrinkles his nose, clearly trying to fight off a sneeze. There is barely any light save what streams in through the grimy windows, and even that is quickly dying.

All Ethan can think is, _this is no place for someone to live, let alone for a child to grow up_. His hand tightens on Will’s, who, as always, seems to know what he’s thinking – he shoots him a small, sad smile and squeezes his hand. “What can you do, huh?” he murmurs.

Ethan opens his mouth to answer, but before he can do so, a thin, almost gaunt, woman appears from the kitchen to the right. Like everyone else, she is dressed all in black, wearing a dress that hangs off her frame down to her knobby knees. Her narrow, pointed face is tanned almost brown, her equally brown hair falling limp to her shoulders, and the only indication Ethan has of her identity as her eyes, as blue as her son’s but yet, nothing like them.

“William.” She sounds surprised to see him.

Will sucks in a breath, and his grip on Ethan’s hand is so tight it’s almost crushing, but Ethan doesn’t so much as wince. “Ma.” The word is quiet, empty of emotion, and yet Ethan hears the bitter tint of it loud and clear.

“You came.” She takes a step forward and then stops in her tracks, wrapping her arms around her middle as if trying to stave off the cold. It’s June. It’s not cold at all. Ethan has no sympathy for her, or her clear shock at seeing her son.

He discovers, with a vicious clarity, that he rather hates her, actually. If not for the way Will’s had to grow up because of her, then for her eyes. She has _no_ right sharing something like that with Will, possessing something of Will’s that Ethan loves so much. It gives him a deep, vicious satisfaction to see that her eyes are not _entirely_ identical to Will’s – the shape is different, her eyelashes aren’t nearly as long, and, most of all, there is nothing of the kindness and love in her eyes that is ever-present in Will’s. Hers are more gray than the clear blue of Will’s.

“I’ll be leaving right after the funeral.” Will’s words are brusque, clipped, with nothing in them that indicates that he’s talking to someone who isn’t a stranger. That’s what she deserves, thinks Ethan, and that’s what she’s going to get. She doesn’t deserve Will, and she never could.

She nods at Will, and then notices Ethan, it seems, for the first time since they’ve entered. “Who are you?” she asks, eyes narrowed at their joined hands.

“Who do you think?” asks Will. Ethan knows that he intended it to come out snappy, but it just sounds tired.

She eyes their hands, and the ring on Ethan’s hand that he knows is visible, and then her gaze wanders to Will’s left hand, and the matching ring there. Her eyes narrow even further until they’re barely more than slits. “Of course,” she all but hisses. “Of course you’re a queer. I’m not surprised.”

Will rolls his eyes but says nothing. “I’m not going to be staying here,” he tells her. “I came only to get my things. We’ll come to the funeral and leave directly after that.”

“I don’t care where you stay,” she snaps. “As long as it’s not under my roof.”

“Don’t worry, then,” Will replies, in exactly the same tone. He makes to walk past her, towards the staircase, but she steps in front of them, blocking the way.

“Your father is _dead_ ,” she says, her bony, lined face contorted in anger. “The least you could do was dress appropriately, you ungrateful whelp.”

Will glances down at his faded blue jeans and black Henley, and then at Ethan’s charcoal gray pants and white button up. With a noncommittal shrug, he moves past her, not giving her a second glance as he leads Ethan up the stairs. She doesn’t follow, but without having to look Ethan knows that she’s watching them. The back of his neck prickles, and he’s glad that he’s got his Colt in the waistband of his pants. He’s not going to shoot Will’s mother, but it’s nice to know that he’s got the means to do so if he so wishes.

“So,” he says, once they’re on the landing upstairs, looking down a short hallway with four wooden doors. “That’s your mother.”

“She’s not my _mother_ ,” says Will viciously, an ugly twist to the word. “She’s just someone who pushed me out of her womb and then left me to fend for myself. And yeah, that’s her.”

“What a lovely woman,” Ethan remarks sarcastically, under his breath, but of course Will hears it.

He snorts. “Mom of the Year.” Then he sighs, and lets go of Ethan’s hand. Ethan feels the absence of warmth immediately, but doesn’t say anything. “Sorry, by the way,” Will says with a small wince. “For almost crushing your hand.”

“Don’t be silly.” Ethan waves it off, and then asks, “So. Which one’s your room?” He doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s quite intrigued by the idea of stepping into Will’s old room, seeing what it’s going to be like. The surroundings that Will grew up in, the walls he saw last thing every night and first thing every morning, the floor he walked on (for some reason Ethan can imagine a young Will pacing a lot, much like present-day Will does), the things he had.

Will looks down the hallway, and begins walking towards the furthermost door. “This one,” he says, tapping lightly at the nondescript wooden door before turning the knob. “Be warned though, there is probably dust everywhere and there’s a good chance it’ll be messy as hell.” He fumbles for a little along the wall inside, and then flips a switch, and the room is flooded with dirty light from a naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.

It’s a small room, barely bigger than their closet back home, but because it’s barely furnished, it appears a lot larger than it really is. There is a single bed made of ugly wrought-iron and covered in plain sheets that were once white but are now yellow with age, with a single misshapen pillow and a ratty blanket; a small dresser opposite the bed, made of the same old, splintery wood as everything else in the house; and a wardrobe opposite the door, next to the small window, that’s so tiny that it’s a wonder more than five sets of clothes could fit in there. Will’s right in that it’s a dusty mess – Ethan wouldn’t be surprised to know that the last person to step in here was Will, years and years ago.

Next to him, Will sneezes, and then grimaces. “Fuck,” he says, lifting up his shirt so that the collar covers his nose and mouth. “What a fucking _mess_.” He moves forward and runs a finger over the top of the dresser, before holding it up and showing it to Ethan. “Look at this.” He grimaces again, before wiping the dark spot of dirt from his finger on the bedsheet.

“It’s… not that bad.” Ethan’s voice sounds weak even to his own ears. “I mean, my room was barely any bigger, so—”

Will snorts. “Save your breath, Ethan, we both know it’s terrible.” He moves away from the dresser to open the wardrobe, coughing when he encounters the cloud of dust that arises from it. “Jesus,” he wheezes as his shirt falls away from his face, and he wipes at his watering eyes.

Ethan moves to stand next to him, looking into the depths of the wardrobe. It really is tiny, but instead of clothes there are only small knick knacks and dust bunnies. It occurs to Ethan that Will probably took all of his clothes with him when he moved out. He turns to ask Will, but the question dies on his lips when he sees the look on Will’s face.

His eyes are still wet, but this time with unshed tears. He’s biting his lower lip unconsciously as he stares into the wardrobe, his hands clutched into tight fists by his side. His eyes look haunted. “Will?” Ethan says cautiously, reaching out slowly so as not to startle him. “Will, honey?”

Will blinks when Ethan’s fingers touch his arm, just above his elbow. “Sorry,” he mutters, hastily wiping at his face. “Just… was thinking.”

“Are you alright?” Ethan asks softly, sliding his fingers down Will’s arm to hold his hand.

“Yeah,” Will replies shortly, offering Ethan a thin smile. “I was just remembering all the times I used to hide out in this cupboard. Every time my dad got too drunk he’d get violent, and I’d hide up here before he could see me. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.” His fingers twitch within Ethan’s, and suddenly a deep, scarlet anger seeps through every single fiber of Ethan’s being. He wants nothing more than to resurrect the man from the dead just so he can kill him with his own bare hands, but because that’s impossible, he resorts to calming himself down with a few deep breaths, and then wrapping his arms around Will.

“Fuck him,” he whispers fiercely. “He can burn in hell for all I care.” He tightens the embrace, and Will’s arms slowly come up to wrap loosely around him, contrasting with the tight grip of Will’s fingers in the back of Ethan’s shirt. “If he wasn’t dead I’d kill him myself just for this.”

Will lets out a choked, mirthless laugh, before pressing his face into Ethan’s shoulder and inhaling deeply. For his part, Ethan just holds Will as tight as possible, and does not comment on Will’s hitched breathing or the hot tears he can feel soaking his shirt at his shoulder.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, surrounded by dust and ghosts, holding on to each other like lifelines, but when Will finally pulls away and wipes his face with his sleeve, it’s dark outside and Ethan can see the moon through the window. “Hey,” he says softly, putting his hands on either side of Will’s face and wiping away the remaining tears with his thumbs. “Better?”

Will nods, and tries to smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Ethan smiles back warmly. “Don’t mention it,” he says, his hands falling back to his sides. “Let’s just get your stuff and go, okay, babe?”

Will nods. “Yeah, okay.” He moves past the wardrobe and past the dresser, surprising Ethan, who wonders what kind of stuff exactly Will wants that isn’t in a wardrobe or dresser. Will crouches by his bed and reaches under it, pulling out an old dented metal box held shut with a rusted padlock.

“That’s all I need,” he says, straightening, the box in his hands. “All the wardrobe’s got is bad memories, and there’s nothing in the dresser that I really want or need.”

“What’s in it?” Ethan asks as they move towards the door. He lets Will exits first, then flips off the bulb and shuts the door behind them.

“I’ll show you,” Will promises. “Later. When we get back home.” He begins walking down the hallway, Ethan by his side, their steps in sync like they always have been.

Their progress towards the stairs is stopped by the last door in their way swinging open and Will’s mother exiting, now wearing a black skirt and blouse, her hair up in a tight bun, giving the impression of her face being stretched over her skull. “What’s that?” she asks Will, her curiosity about the box clearly overcoming her distaste.

“Something of mine,” Will answers shortly, hefting the box under one arm, the other reaching out towards Ethan, for solace or perhaps just to irk his mother. Probably a bit of both, which is absolutely okay with Ethan; he reaches out and clasps Will’s hand.

His mother glances down in contempt, before tearing her eyes away to look up at Will. “Funeral’s at eight in the morning tomorrow,” she tells him testily. “I expect you’ll be a pallbearer.”

Will’s mouth drops open. “Fuck _no_ ,” he says fervently, looking appalled that she even has the guts to suggest it. “I’d rather chop off my own arms.”

“He was your father—” she begins angrily, her face turning an ugly, blotchy red.

“He was nothing more to me than a sperm donor,” cuts off Will firmly, and Ethan feels a stab of vicious delight at hearing his words thrown at the skinny woman before them, the monster responsible for hurting Will so much. “And therefore,” Will continues, “I don’t give a single fuck about him, or you, for that matter.”

“Then why are you here?” she hisses, folding her arms over her nonexistent bosom. “Why have you darkened our doorstep once more?”

“To remind myself that occasionally, dreams do come true,” Will spits, before tugging at Ethan’s hand. “Let’s go, Ethan. Let’s not _darken her doorstep_ any more than we have to.” And Ethan hates the bitter, resentful twist to his words, wishes that he could do anything to erase this, all of this, from Will’s mind, and fill the empty space left behind with warmth and love.

But he can’t, so instead all he does is go downstairs with Will, and ignore everyone on their way to the car.

* * *

They drive around for a while before Will finally finds what he’s been looking for – a motel. “We didn’t have one when I was a kid,” he tells Ethan as they park the car and get out, carrying their duffels and Will’s box. “So it’s a bit newer than the rest of the town.” 

“Looks just as shitty regardless,” Ethan comments, and Will grins a little at that.

“Yeah,” he says.

The clerk behind the desk looks too young to know who Will is, which is a relief for both of them. They get their keys from him and make their way to the room they’ve been given, both of them chuckling a little to the guy’s horrified expression when they’d asked for a king and not two queens.

“Lovely, welcoming place,” snorts Ethan as he unlocks the door to the room.

“Always has been,” Will replies sarcastically, following him inside.

They take turns showering, and then put their bags neatly in one corner of the small, cornfield-themed and therefore eye-wateringly yellow room. There’s nothing there in the way of food, and so Will sighs, takes the car keys off the side table, and says, “C’mon. I know a diner.”

* * *

“Diner” is actually a bit of an overestimation, thinks Ethan as he sits in the corner of the utterly crowded place that, anywhere else, would pass as a café. The atmosphere is homey, the air permeated with the scents of deep-fried potato and syrup, and almost everyone seated at the small tables and rickety chairs is deep in conversation about something or the order, the individual sounds joining together to create a giant rush of noise. This is the one place in the town that _doesn’t_ have Will looking like a storm has taken up residence behind his eyes, and so Ethan instantly likes it, right down to the yellow theme (seriously, first the motel and now this? _Why?_ ) and the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner. 

“Welcome to Daphne’s,” Will announces with a little smile as he takes a seat in a corner – all the better to observe the rest of the room with – and picks up the menu. “Let’s see if the food is exactly as I remember it.” 

Ethan watches as Will peruses the menu, and then comments, “You seem to like this place a bit better than the rest of the town.”

“Yeah,” Will tells him over the top of the menu. “I used to work here. Everyone was nice to me. Hey, I wonder if they’re still around? Freeman is, so they might be too.”

“Who’s they?” asks Ethan curiously. “And who exactly is Freeman?”

“ _They_ is Daphne and her husband Aaron,” Will explains. “They were always great to me, which honestly was a welcome change from just about everyone else. And Freeman was the cop who brought my dad in. You know.” There’s an odd look on Will’s face. “When he murdered our neighbor.”

He suddenly looks even paler than he has been since morning, so Ethan reaches over the table to give his hand a squeeze before releasing it, lest someone create an issue of it or something. The town doesn’t exactly come across the most open-minded place around, and Ethan knows that if he were to give any indication that his relationship with Will is anything more than platonic – well. It would just give Will another reason to hate the place, especially if the name-calling and threats of Hell began.

Will gives him a strained smile. “Full of happy memories, this place.”

“I can imagine,” Ethan replies with a snort. Then he smiles at Will. “You’ve worked here. Tell me, what’s good?”

Will glances down at the menu. “Well. The menu hasn’t changed. Hopefully the quality of the food hasn’t either.”

As if it’s a cue, a young waitress in a yellow shirt and black jeans comes over, holding a small notebook. “What’ll it be, gentlemen?” she asks, smiling cheerily.

Ethan inclines his head towards Will. “What do you say, Will?” But Will isn’t listening; he’s got his eyes narrowed in a frown as he looks at the waitress, as if trying to figure out where he’s seen her before.

Her smile melts, and she frowns a little too. “Is something the matter, sir?” she asks, a nervous undercurrent in her polite tone.

“What’s your name?” Will asks abruptly, still staring at her. “Your full name.”

“Uh.” Evidently as perplexed as Ethan by Will’s behavior, she seems to consider whether she should tell him or not, before apparently deciding to do so. “Jenna, sir. Jenna Ford.”

Will’s frown vanishes, and he actually smiles at the waitress. Ethan watches, amused, as a smile grows on the waitress’s face in response – it’s always funny, seeing the effect Will’s brilliant smile can have even on strangers (well, right until he kicks their asses, but that’s only on missions, and not likely to happen now). “Your Daphne’s daughter, aren’t you?” Will asks her, still beaming.

She nods. “Yeah, actually.” She looks inquisitively at him. “How do you know my mother? You’re not from around here, or I’d have seen you before.”

“Yeah, I’m from out of town,” Will tells her, clearly choosing not to tell her the whole truth of his origins. “I grew up here, though. I used to work for your parents. Are they still around?”

Jenna Ford nods. “Oh yes. They should be in the back. Do you want to come say hello?”

“Uh.” Will looks hesitant now that she’s made the suggestion. “I don’t know… I mean, I’m not sure they’d remember me.” And Ethan knows that’s a lie. He’s pretty sure that, from the way the people on his parents’ porch looked at him when they saw him coming, everyone knows about the Brandts’ runaway son. The boy who left in a storm of blood and death and never returned… until now.

The reason Will doesn’t want to see Daphne and Aaron, Ethan thinks, is because he doesn’t know if they’ll accept him the way he is now, and he doesn’t want his memories of their kindness to be tarnished by anything.

“Oh, they’ll remember you all right,” Jenna dismisses. “They don’t forget anyone. Come on, I think they’d be glad to see you!”

Will looks uncertainly at Ethan, who just smiles reassuringly at him. Drawing courage from Ethan’s _it’s going to be okay_ demeanor, Will stands, his chair scraping against the linoleum floor, and slightly bows his head towards Jenna, who’s taller than him by an inch or three. “Lead the way.”

Ethan stands as well, following Jenna and Will to the back of the diner. She takes them through a door marked _Authorized Personnel Only_ and into the kitchen, where a scrawny old lady with frizzy ginger hair is handling a saucepan with incredible strength, muscles moving under wrinkled, liver-spotted skin. A few meters away, an old man with short brown hair the same color as Jenna’s is chopping vegetables up so fast his hands are a blur, and Ethan has to admit he’s impressed. The only other person he knows who can handle a knife with such dexterity is Will.

“Ma, Pa, someone’s here to see you,” she calls to them, not entering the working area, Will and Ethan standing just behind her. “Says he used to work here.”

“A lot of people used to work here, honey, be more specific,” the old man calls out over the sound of the knife on the cutting board, his hand not faltering even for a second.

“Just put him in the office, sweetheart, we’ll be by after this order,” the old lady says, deftly raising the saucepan from the stove and moving it in a circular motion.

“Will do,” Jenna replies, and leads Will and Ethan to a small office next to the door to the kitchen. Inside is a small desk with two old, rickety chairs in front of it, and a bookshelf filled with culinary volumes, as well as a filing cabinet. “Just a couple minutes, okay, guys?” she says. “Oh, and you didn’t give me your orders.”

“Er—” begins Will, but she cuts him off.

“On the house,” she promises, green eyes twinkling. “After all, you used to work here.”

“Thank you,” Will says warmly. “We’ll just have the chili special, then? Is it still the best thing here?”

“You bet,” she says, and leaves.

Will sits down immediately but Ethan paces a little, checking out everything that he can in the small but tidy office. “So that’s them, then?” he asks.

Will, who looks a little overwhelmed at having seen his old employers, nods. “Yeah. Still the same as ever, except wrinklier, I guess.”

“Think they’ll remember you?” Ethan finishes his round of the place and takes the chair across from Will, feeling it wobble under his weight.

“I hope so,” Will replies. He looks apprehensive.

Ethan wonders what he can say that’s going to make Will feel better about this, _any_ of this that’s been happening all day and leaving him with that haunted look and his fists clenched so tight, but before he can think of anything, the door to the office creaks open and the old lady from the kitchen steps in, followed by her husband. Immediately Will is on his feet, and Ethan stands too, taking a step forward. Will opens his mouth to say something, but the old man beats him to the punch.

“I’ll be damned.” He sounds somewhat awed. “William Brandt.”

Will closes his mouth and nods, offering them a nervous smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Ford.”

The man – Aaron Ford – comes forward and extends his hand, shaking Will’s vigorously when Will takes it, and then bestows the same upon Ethan. Daphne Ford, following her husband’s lead, steps forward as well, but she hugs Will instead of shaking his hand. Then she hugs Ethan as well, much to his surprise.

“It’s been _years_ , son,” Aaron says, pushing himself up to sit on the desk. “You haven’t visited even once.”

Will grins uneasily as he and Ethan sit in their chairs and Daphne takes the one behind the desk. “Can you really blame me?”

“Can’t say that I can,” replies Aaron. “So you’re here for your father’s funeral.”

Will nods. The look Aaron gives him in response is strange – his entire face goes soft and there’s a small, inexplicably wistful smile on his face. “Still the same, kid,” he says, shaking his head fondly. “You’re still the same as you were all those years ago.”

“’Course he is,” Daphne dismisses. “I always did say he would be.” She looks the same as her husband – nostalgic and affectionate. Ethan immediately puts them both on his _List of People in this Town Who Don’t Deserve Painful Death_.

“Oh, who’s this?” asks Aaron, his mind turning to Ethan now that he’s done with Will. “Friend of yours, son?”

Will shakes his head. “Uh.” For a moment it’s clear that he’s debating whether he should tell the truth or not. Then the uncertainly is replaced with steely determination, and Will says, “This is Ethan. He’s – well. He’s actually my husband.”

To their credit, the old couple doesn’t look fazed or disturbed by this news at all. To the contrary, the old woman’s face lights up, and she exclaims, “Oh, you got _married_! That’s good to hear, son, that’s real good to hear.”

“He seems a good sort,” comments Aaron, like Ethan’s not in the room at all. “He keep you happy?”

Will’s tension having completely dissipated now that they’ve established that they don’t care about his choice in partner, he’s now trying to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, yeah he does,” he tells Aaron, smiling, his eyes dancing with mirth, and Ethan is so, _so_ utterly glad to see it, after an entire day of seeing nothing but fire there.

“Good,” says Aaron staunchly. “That’s good.” Ethan decides he likes him and his wife.

“So what are you doing these days?” asks Daphne.

“We work for the government, actually,” Ethan tells her (it isn't _technically_ a lie, not really). “That’s how we met. Work.”

“That’s adorable,” she beams, and Will goes a little pink around the ears.

They make small talk for a few more minutes, until Aaron and Daphne have to go back to the kitchen. Will and Ethan follow them out of the small office and back to their table, where a moment later Jenna Ford brings them the chili special. From the rapturous expression on Will’s face when he digs into it, it _is_ as good as he remembers, and Ethan can’t help but smile. It’s nice to know that there was at least once place in this terrible fucking town where Will might have felt safe, perhaps even happy.

* * *

He keeps Will pressed close to his chest all night long, fingers in his hair, as they both pretend that they’re asleep. 

* * *

 

The funeral is dull and dreary; very few people attend, and it pleases Ethan to see that clearly a lot of the townspeople thought as less of Will’s father as he does. It’s only the same people from the porch yesterday that are in attendance, plus Will’s mother, who’s sniffing into a handkerchief, and Mr. Freeman, who looks incredibly satisfied, and Ethan can’t help but like him too. 

Some people try to give eulogies, but because there’s nothing nice that can be said without it being an outright lie, they give up soon enough and the priest, who looks like he’d much rather get this over with as soon as possible, rushes through the service. Will’s father is lowered into the ground with the absolute minimum of ceremony, and honestly Ethan thinks that even that is more than what the man deserves.

Throughout it all Will stands stony-faced next to Ethan, his hands clenched into fists by his side. (Neither of them have bothered wearing anything formal, or even black, and it delighted Ethan when Will’s mother glared at them for it. Good. Let her eat her heart out all she wants.) Ethan wants nothing more than to take Will’s hand and force his fists to relax; to sooth away the nail imprints that he knows are there in his palm; to kiss him; to press him gently into the sheets and make him unwind; loose out the tight, tense coil that his body has become; but he knows he can’t, so he just stands with his shoulder touching Will’s, projecting as much calm and reassurance as he can.

Finally, _finally_ it’s over, and the company begins to dissolve. Ethan puts his hand on the small of Will’s back and gently turns him away from where he’s got his eyes fixed on the grave, jaw clenched. He can feel Will’s mother’s eyes on him as he walks Will to the car and opens the door for him; can almost palpate the hatred coming off her in waves when he leans in to touch Will’s face before moving over to the driver’s side. He doesn’t care. Neither does Will.

“Are you all right?” Ethan asks quietly once the car is moving.

Will doesn’t answer immediately, just continues staring stonily out the window. Ethan considers repeating his question, but before he can do so Will turns his head and offers him a small smile. “I will be, I think. Thank you.”

Ethan takes his hand, brings it up to kiss his knuckles. “I’m here.” Short, succinct, to the point, and everything he knows Will needs to hear.

“I know.” 

* * *

There’s a knock on the door a half hour or so after they reach the motel, and Ethan moves to answer it since Will is in the bathroom. He opens the door to find Will’s mother standing there in her black outfit, her arms crossed. “What are you doing here?” he asks her, eyes narrowed, his body blocking the entrance to the room as he crosses his arms as well. 

“I want to talk to my son,” she answers stoutly, her head held high as she holds his gaze defiantly. “Now.”

“About what?” questions Ethan.

“None of your damn business,” she snaps, and elbows her way in. Ethan lets her; for one, he’s curious, and for another, he’s hoping she’ll get the damn hint when she hears it from Will.

The bathroom doors open and Will exits, drying his face with a towel. “Ethan, who was at the door?” he asks, voice muffled.

“I was,” says his mother, and Will almost drops the towel in shock.

“What the fuck do you want?” he asks her flatly, throwing the towel aside and crossing his arms defensively.

“Says she wants to talk to you,” drawls Ethan, leaning against the wall. On a sudden whim he takes out his gun and begins idly playing with it, resisting the urge to grin at the nervous look the woman shoots his way.

“Why does he have a gun?”

“It’s a free world,” retorts Will, moving away from her so that he’s standing next to Ethan, a good four feet away from her. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you,” she answers, glancing at Ethan’s Colt again before tearing her eyes away to focus on her son. “Look, Will–”

“It’s William to you,” Will interrupts her, tone flat.

“William,” she corrects. It looks to Ethan like she’s forcing herself to be calm, to look smaller and less threatening to her son, and he wonders why. He has his answer a moment later when she continues speaking. “I know I haven’t been the best mother—”

Will snorts. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“—but you have to know,” she continues, like she wasn’t interrupted, “it was all Mick, okay. I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to bring you up the way I did. I was scared of him.”

Ethan stares incredulously at her, and then at Will, who’s watching her with his face set into a mask again, jaw clenched the way it had been at the funeral. Putting his gun back in his waistband, Ethan reaches over to gently massage Will’s fists open, letting go only when he’s sure Will isn’t going to hurt himself.

“I know you think I’m lying,” she presses, and it’s pitiful how pathetic she looks, greasy brown hair falling around her gaunt face, deep bags under those eyes that she unfortunately shares with her son, thin bottom lip wobbling. “But son—”

That’s the word that breaks Will out of his stupor. “Don’t you dare,” he snarls, and she recoils. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ call me that. I’m not your _son_.”

“You _are_!” she insists. “I’ve loved you, William, since you were born, I honestly have. And you know what? I wanted to divorce Mick, I really did! I was just – just so _scared_!” And with that she bursts into loud tears, pressing her face into her handkerchief as her whole body shudders with sobs.

Ethan turns to Will again, unable to comprehend what’s happening and what to make of it. He’s spent a lifetime studying people and he knows when they’re lying and when they’re not, and he _knows_ that what this woman has just unloaded on them is a load of bullshit, but he’s not sure what to make of the mask that is Will’s face. Will’s a compassionate, kind person, but he’s not stupid either, and Ethan wants to know how he’s going to react to this.

“You are _unbelievable_ ,” Will hisses through grit teeth. “Stop that right now, I know it’s fake crying. I don’t care what kind of story you’ve come up with, Ma, I couldn’t care less. You can leave now.”

She wails, the handkerchief dropping from her face, and takes a step towards Will, who automatically steps back. “William, you’re my _son_ and I – I love you!” she cries, her voice coarse and loud, and honestly, her attempt at acting is so pathetic Ethan wonders why she’s even trying. She couldn’t fool the biggest sucker on the planet with that act. “Please, give me a chance to prove it!” she begs, clutching at Will’s arms and attempting to hug him.

Will actually physically recoils from her, moving away from her touch so that he’s pressed into Ethan’s side instead, not out of fear but for strength and reassurance, Ethan knows. “You don’t love me, Ma, you can drop the act now,” he says wearily, his face devoid of color or any expression other than fatigue. “Just go home, Ma.”

“It’s not my home! I don’t want to return to that _awful_ house, William!” She sniffs dramatically. Ethan feels bile rising at the back of his throat, as well as a sick surge of anger and hate. “I couldn’t stand the memories of what’s happened there—”

Clearly this is the last straw. Will steps forward again, looking absolutely _livid_ , so much that even Ethan is a little disturbed by it. “Memories?” His voice is low, deadly. “ _Memories?_ You wanna talk memories, Ma? Okay, let’s talk memories.” He takes a deep breath. His face is no longer pale; instead it is flushed red with rage. “Let’s talk about all those times he beat me up, huh, Ma? All those times he drunk himself crazy and took it out on me, and you let him do it ‘cause it meant he wouldn’t hurt _you_. All those times you egged him on to me so that he’d release his anger on me and not you. Any of that ring a bell, Ma?”

He’s trembling with anger, hands into fists again, and Ethan watches, horrified, as he takes one more step closer to his mother, whose face has gone still as she hears him talk. “Let’s talk about how you let him whip me with his fucking studded belt, right, Ma? And kicked me with those steel-tipped boots. Or do you want to talk about the time he used me as a human ashtray, Ma? And you only gave me enough first-aid to make sure it wouldn’t scar, or people would talk, wouldn’t they? Or hey, maybe you wanna talk about the time he broke a bottle over my head, and you laughed and said that my hair would finally match yours with the dried blood in it. Maybe you wanna talk about the time he kicked me so hard I threw up blood for days.” Will’s voice has been rising steadily with each word, so that he’s almost shouting now, and the more he talks the more Ethan wants to either throw up, or shoot something, or hold Will so tight that he merges their bodies, presses Will into his ribcage and keeps him safe there where no one else can touch him. 

“William, _stop_ —” his mother begins, but he goes right over her.

“Or hey, Ma, maybe you wanna talk about the time you saw him come into my room with his dick hanging out, and you didn’t say a fucking word to stop him because better me than you, right?” Will laughs bitterly, wiping furiously at the single tear that’s fallen from his eye. “Maybe you want to talk about the time he spent the entire night in there, and I couldn’t walk for a week after, and when people asked you told them I’d sprained my ankle, but Mrs. Turner knew, didn’t she? She knew, and you hated her for it, and when he killed her you fucking laughed over her body, you sick, twisted _bitch_ , you fucking _psychopath_ —”

Ethan thinks he might actually throw up.

Will’s crying now, crying and shouting at his mother, who can do nothing but watch and hear and cower away from him like the fucking coward she is. “Those the kind of memories you’re talking about, Ma? Because those are _my_ memories, and I wish, oh God, I wish I could forget it all, God, you people made me wish I’d _die_ , did you fucking know that? And I know you know about what his friends did to me, okay, don’t even try to fucking deny it, you _know_ and you didn’t give a shit then, and you sure as fuck don’t give it now, so tell me – where the _fuck_ do you get off, pretending you love me, huh?” His demand hangs in the charged air between them, but he’s not done yet, and Ethan’s breakfast is in his throat, his eyes are wet and his gun is back out, hanging loosely by his side while his other hand stretches towards Will but can’t seem to find him.

“Do you honestly think you even have the right?” Will half-screams, half-sobs at her, his entire body shaking with rage and pain. “Did you really think you’d come in here and I’d buy it? God, you’re so stupid, you’re so stupid, you fucking _bitch_ —”

“William—” she tries again, but he’s having none of it.

_“I hate you!”_ he screams, so loud that Ethan’s afraid he’s going to hurt his throat. “I HATE YOU, DO YOU HEAR ME? I WISH YOU WERE DEAD! And you know what? I wouldn’t come to your funeral, Ma. Because while he was an outright asshole, you are so much _worse_ , you coward. Get out. GET OUT, MA!” 

She stares at him for a moment longer, her face impassive, and then she’s gone, the door swinging shut behind her. Will watches her go before taking one step and collapsing into Ethan’s arms, dragging them both down to the floor so that Ethan ends up on his knees, supporting Will, whose face is pressed into his chest as he sobs, loud and broken, his fingers clutching Ethan’s shirt so tightly it’s in danger of ripping.

Ethan says nothing, just drops his gun and wraps his arms around Will. There are no words, _none_ , for the injustice that’s been done to Will, for the absolute brutality and cruelty of it, and there is nothing he can say right now that will alleviate Will’s pain. This isn’t the kind of agony that will go away just because of a few words, anyway – not this kind of bone-deep pain that’s carved into every cell of Will’s body, and there is nothing Ethan wants more than to hide him inside himself, protect him, wash away every bad thing that’s ever happened to him until all that’s left is Will, pure Will, his sun, moon and stars, with his beautiful smile and blue, _blue_ eyes and the soft touch of his hands and lips.

But all he can do for now is hold him, keep him safe inside his embrace and let him sob out the repressed pain of years long gone by, until he’s empty and exhausted and lying limp in Ethan’s arms, in that hazy place between Awake and Not, listening to Ethan’s heart beat inside his chest.

* * *

That night – when they’re in their own bed in their own home, far away from the demons of Will’s past – Ethan gently presses Will down into the sheets and kisses every inch of his bare skin, traces all of his scars, caresses every single mark, whispers his love into Will’s skin until he’s got no more words left, and hopes hope against hope that it’s enough, that he can somehow fill Will with love and warmth and affection until there is not a single bad thing left, no memory that could hope to dent the shield Ethan places around him. And when they’re lying face to face, chests pressed together, he kisses Will with everything that he has, and wipes away Will’s tears until Will is finally silent and sleepy in his arms, and doesn’t let go until it’s morning and the sun is shining with the end of an old chapter and the beginning of a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if I haven't scared you all off and made you despise me, feedback would be nice.
> 
> Love,  
> Remy x


	18. Take What You Need & We'll Disappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's still feeling the after-effects of everything, so Ethan takes him out with a surprise in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, it's been a while. I've been busy as fucking hell, honestly, with finals and more finals, and then all the stress that comes with beginning a new semester. I did have a two-week vacation during which I went to Pakistan and basically lazed around my grandpa's place and watched movies with him, that was nice. My grandpa is a very chill man.
> 
> But yeah anyway, here it is. 8k of fluff. God knows you guys deserve it.
> 
>  **Warning:** rape mentions - though it's nothing to do with humans, it's just a short discussion of. Um. Duck mating habits. I apologize in advance for the mental disturbances that discussion will inevitably cause, and every day I ask myself why I haven't dunked my brain in bleach yet.

Ethan returns from his morning run to find Will still in bed, curled up on his side in the exact same position Ethan left him in. He sighs to himself and sits down on the bed next to Will, placing his hand on Will’s forehead. Will opens his eyes, looking dully up at Ethan.

“Will,” Ethan says patiently. “It’s been a week. You’ve got to get out of bed sometime.”

“I get out of bed plenty,” Will mutters, closing his eyes again and pressing into Ethan’s touch. “I go to work, don’t I?”

“And then you come back and get into bed until it’s time to go again,” Ethan finishes. “It’s not healthy.”

“I know,” Will says, eyes still closed. He wraps the sheets tighter around himself. “I just don’t want to get up.”

“Well, you can’t stay in bed,” Ethan tells him, gently running his fingers through Will’s hair. “You’re not going to feel better until you let yourself.”

“What am I supposed to do?” asks Will, opening his eyes to look questioningly up at Ethan.

“God, Will, _anything_ ,” Ethan replies, abruptly withdrawing his hand from Will’s hair as he finds himself running out of patience. “Anything would be better than this, than you just lying about in bed like it’s the end of your world. Hell, you can bitch at me if it will make you feel better, just, _please_ , do _something_.”

Will blinks, looking a little taken aback at Ethan’s outburst. “I don’t know how to… how to feel okay again,” he admits, after a few moments of taking in Ethan’s worried face, the tightness around his eyes and the thin line of his mouth. “I don’t know how _not_ to feel sick inside, I don’t know how to _forget_.”

“Then let me help you,” Ethan insists. “You can’t just keep waving me off, you know. You _married_ me. That pretty much implies that neither of us is supposed to go through anything alone, you know.”

Will offers him a small, guilty smile. “I know. I – I’m sorry. I am. I just… well. You know.” He winces.

Ethan gets it, though, like he always does, and he smiles down at Will. “Get up, get dressed,” he says, standing. “We’re going out. Dress warm,” he adds.

“It’s summer,” Will points out as, to Ethan’s immense delight, he sits up. “Why should I dress warm?”

“You’ll see,” is Ethan’s cryptic answer.  “Come on, now. Up and at ‘em.”

Will scowls a little at not getting the answer to his question, but he still gets out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom, touching Ethan’s arm as he passes. “You’re all sweaty,” he calls from the bathroom a moment later. “Maybe you should shower too.” The bathroom door is open – an invitation.

Ethan grins to himself. “You know what, maybe I will,” he calls back, toeing off his running shoes and taking off his socks before following Will into the bathroom.

Ethan makes them breakfast afterwards, eggs and toast for himself and pancakes for Will, who gives him a dazzling smile and digs in, and that makes the effort more than worth it for Ethan. He finishes eating sooner than Will does and begins packing bottles of water into a backpack, as well as Gatorade and a large back of chips and another one of gummy bears.

“Where did you get those?” asks Will, watching interestedly. It’s a brilliant change from having him dull and listless.

“Got them on my way back from my run,” Ethan tells him. “We’ll get more things on the way.”

“The way to where?” questions Will as he finishes eating and puts his plate in the sink. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Ethan repeats with a grin. “It’s a surprise, what we’re doing.”

“Is it the kind of surprise I’m going to like?” inquires Will, washing up the plates and cutlery. “Or is it something that will need the entire IMF PR department to cover up?”

“Hilarious,” snorts Ethan, pausing in his packing to roll his eyes at Will. “When was the last time I gave you a surprise that needed to be covered up?”

Will raises an eyebrow at him. “I see you’ve forgotten Reykjavik already.”

“You _swore_ never to mention Reykjavik again,” Ethan replies, pointing a bottle of water accusingly at Will. “No,” he continues with a sigh. “It’s the kind of surprise I’m hoping you’ll like.”

“Well, then,” Will says, putting the plates and cutlery aside to dry and turning to smile at Ethan. “Thank you. For doing that.”

“You don’t know what it is, yet,” Ethan points out, though he returns the smile.

“You said I’ll like it,” Will says. “Good enough for me.” He leans in to kiss Ethan’s cheek. “So. Thank you.”

Ethan reciprocates by gripping tightly at Will’s fingers before letting go so he can finish his packing. “Anything for you. You know that.”

“Yeah,” is Will’s short answer. “I do.” He’s still smiling.

They get dressed afterwards, Will putting on black jeans and a Henley, and moving towards his loafers before Ethan stops him with a hand on his arm. “Combat boots,” he says shortly. “Not loafers.”

Will’s eyebrow goes up again. “Didn’t know my surprise has a dress code,” he comments, but goes for the combat boots anyway.

“It’ll be easier,” Ethan explains, pulling his own shoes on and doing the laces. He’s dressed similarly to Will, in dark gray jeans and an olive green V-neck. He stands when he’s done with his shoes and throws something at Will, who catches it instinctively.

“Why do I need a leather jacket?” he asks, looking down at what he’s just caught. “It’s _summer_ ,” he says again, like Ethan has lost all knowledge of the concept of seasons.

“Patience, grasshopper,” is Ethan’s bright reply as he zips up his own jacket. “Come on,” he says when they’re both ready. “Let’s go.”

With a confused look on his face Will follows Ethan down to the garage. Ethan, who can feel Will’s gaze on his back all the way, wonders why Will hasn’t piped up with his deductions of what they’re going to do. Then it occurs to him that Will is holding himself back, because Ethan said it’s a surprise and Will doesn’t want to ruin it by guessing what it is beforehand.

The thought causes a warm wave of affection to wash over Ethan, and without warning he stops walking, catching Will before he can crash into him. “I love you, do you know that?” he says, his hands on Will’s shoulders.

“I – yes, I know that,” Will replies, perplexed. “I love you too.”

“Good,” smiles Ethan, and leans in to kiss Will. It is slow and soft, not tentative but not completely sure either, because Ethan doesn’t know how Will is going to react. It might be too overwhelming, after the past few days they’ve had.

But Will responds enthusiastically, his fingers tugging at the ends of Ethan’s hair as he melts into his body, erasing all traces of uncertainty from the kiss. “You’re never going to be too much for me,” he whispers against Ethan’s lips when they stop for breath, reading Ethan’s mind like he always does, and Ethan feels like he might burst from how much he loves Will. “You sure try, sometimes, but you’ll never be too much for me. So don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” whispers Ethan in reply.

“Seriously,” Will says, pecking Ethan’s lips. “You managed to get me out of bed, dressed and down here. We haven’t even begun whatever it is we’re going to be doing, but Ethan, I feel better already.” He smiles. “So you want a kiss, you go for it. God knows you deserve it.”

Ethan laughs, tilting his head so that their foreheads touch. “I’m glad you feel better,” he says, his thumb stroking a line over Will’s cheekbone. “And I’m going to take your word for it and kiss the hell out of you whenever I feel like it.” To prove it, he kisses Will again, short and sweet.

“An unbeatable plan if there ever was one,” Will agrees gravely, but his smile is threatening to break through it any moment now.

Ethan places a final kiss on Will’s lips before taking a step back and saying, “Let’s go, shall we?”

“Yeah, okay,” Will says.

On a sudden whim Ethan reaches out and takes Will’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers as he leads him down the parking area over to their spot, where Will’s Ghibli stands next to Ethan’s Stingray and his new BMW, the replacement for his Porsche. And beyond the three cars is propped a beautiful cherry red Harley Davidson, a recent acquisition of Ethan’s.

Will takes in a sharp breath at the sight, untangling his fingers from Ethan’s so he can go over and run a hand down the bright paint. “Where did you get this?” he asks reverently, staring at it like he’s reached a plane of existence inaccessible to mere mortals. “It’s _gorgeous_.”

“Bought it this morning,” Ethan tells him, smiling at his reaction to the bike. “It occurred to me that we have a great home, three beautiful cars and everything we could ever want – except for a bike. So, naturally, I sought to remedy that as soon as I could.”

“You’ve had a very productive run,” comments Will, not taking his eyes off the bike as he circles it slowly, taking it in from every angle, gazing in reverence at the engine and the pedals and the seat, and even the duffel bag Ethan’s got strapped at the very back.

Ethan laughs. “Yes,” is all he says. “Will, honey, you keep looking at it like that I’m going to feel jealous.”

Will grins up at him. “It’s just so _beautiful_ ,” he enthuses. “I want to _marry_ it.”

“Not helping,” Ethan remarks, but grins back.

“What’s in the bag?” asks Will, gesturing towards it.

“Surprise,” Ethan tells him. “You’ll see. Do you want to get on it, then?” He then asks, holding out a helmet with a grin.

“Hell yeah!” Will exclaims, laughing as he takes the helmet. “That shouldn’t even be a question!”

Ethan laughs again as he puts on his own helmet and straddles the bike, retrieving the keys from his pocket and putting the right one in the ignition. Will gets on behind him, putting his feet on the rests and wrapping his arms around Ethan’s waist, his chin on Ethan’s shoulder. “This is an _amazing_ surprise,” he says happily, attempting to kiss Ethan’s cheek but succeeding in nothing more than bumping their helmets together.

“This isn’t all of the surprise,” Ethan tells him with a smile. “Just wait and see.”

“You’re terrible, you are,” Will complains, but the rest of his words are lost in the loud roar of the Harley’s engine when Ethan kickstarts it. He keeps his foot on the ground, revs the engine a couple more times just to show off, before disengaging the clutch and going into the first gear, peeling out of the parking space.

Will is laughing delightedly in his ear, his arms tight around Ethan, and Ethan smiles to himself as the bike emerges from the garage into the bright morning sun. “You ready?” he asks Will, shouting to be heard over the engine.

“Fuck yes!” Will yells back exuberantly, and Ethan grins before going into the second gear and shooting off down the road.

It’s something else entirely, thinks Ethan, the feeling of going so fast in the open air, the wind rushing against him, drowning out every sound and every sensation except that of Will at his back, a warm and reassuring anchor to reality. He feels like he is flying, like there is nothing he can’t do right now, with Will’s arms around him and the powerful vibrations of the bike under him, the roar of its engine combined with the rush of the wind the best soundtrack in the world. He’s missed this, has missed going for a ride just for the hell of it, without any car chases or criminals or missions involved. For the life of him he can’t remember the last time he’s done this, and then it occurs to him that he hasn’t, not since Nyah at least.

Behind him Will is still laughing, delighted and loud enough to be heard over everything else, and Ethan can feel it through Will’s chest as it leaks into his back and up front to his heart, makes him want to shout with laughter himself, makes him want to stop the bike right now and kiss Will senseless. He refrains, though, mostly because he knows that if he starts kissing Will now he probably won’t be able to stop, and then they wouldn’t get anywhere.

“Where are we going?” Will shouts in his ear some time later, once they’ve cleared the busy roads and are speeding down a route that Ethan discovered a long time ago, after Nyah but before Julia. He’s never brought Will – or anyone else – this way.

“A place,” he replies loudly, knowing his answer is irritating and hiding a grin at the eyeroll he _knows_ Will is giving him even though he can’t see it.

“How far is this _place_?” Will yells, sounding suitably annoyed just as expected.

“Not a lot!” Ethan shouts back, grinning to himself. “We should be there in a while!”

They can’t hear the city now, just the bike and the wind and each other as they race down a road that becomes less asphalt and more dirt and gravel with each mile they go. Will is looking around as they pass, taking in the empty land and the dust and bushes. “Looks pretty bleak to me!” he calls out.

“Wait and watch!” Ethan calls back, the wind swallowing half the volume of his words.

A few minutes later the road becomes entirely dirt under the wheels. The dust and bushes make way for fields of wheat and corn and mustard, and Ethan can feel it when Will takes in a deep breath and exhales with a “Wow. _Wow_.”

“Do you like it?” he asks, slowing down the bike, shifting down the gears till it’s just the second one and they no longer have to shout to talk to each other.

“It’s _beautiful_ ,” Will says, sounding breathless with awe. He leans forward so that he’s practically draped over Ethan’s back, his head resting on Ethan’s shoulder. “You’ve never brought me here before.”

“It never occurred to me,” answers Ethan honestly. “I used to come here after Nyah and I broke up. It got very lonely, you know, stuck in my apartment with nothing to do and no one to talk to. There was Luther, but he wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to talk to. I didn’t want a friend, I wanted someone to share my life with. Someone whom I could tell anything and everything, someone I could be myself with. And not having someone like that got… overwhelming sometimes, so I used to take my bike out for a spin. I had a Kawasaki Ninja then, a beautiful black thing. I used to just pack the bare essentials, water and some food, and just go anywhere the road took me. That’s how I found this place. So I used to come here when it all got too much. I used to think if I went fast enough I could outrun it all.”

There is a silence, and then Will’s arms are no longer around Ethan’s waist. A second later Ethan feels Will’s lips on the back of his neck in a soft, reassuring kiss, and he feels overcome, except this time it’s love and not loneliness, and that is the best thing, he thinks, to have ever happened to him. Trying not to betray the tightness of his throat or the wetness in his eyes, he says, attempting to keep his tone light, “You shouldn’t take your helmet off, you know. Especially when we’re moving.”

“Couldn’t help it,” is Will’s short answer as he rests his re-helmeted head back on Ethan’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist again. “I love you,” he says a moment later.

“I love you too,” Ethan replies, and his voice is remarkably steady but a few tears do spill over, clouding his vision momentarily. “And I’m so glad I met you. That’s why I haven’t been here in years. I didn’t feel like I had to.”

“I’m glad too,” Will replies softly, like he knows exactly what Ethan is feeling, the sudden strong ache in his chest that happens when he thinks about exactly how much he loves Will. “And I’m glad you brought me here. Maybe now you won’t associate it with loneliness anymore. I don’t think I can think of anything worse than you being alone.”

And that is the last straw; Ethan abruptly peels off to the side of the road and stops the bike, feet skimming the ground as it slows and then stops, before kicking the stand into place to make sure it won’t fall over. He shuts off the ignition and then gets off the bike, turning to face a very confused Will who’s still seated.

“Ethan, what—” he begins, but stops when Ethan takes his helmet off and throws it aside before doing the same to Will’s, and then takes Will’s face in his hands and kisses him.

This time he isn’t tentative or uncertain in any way at all; this time he kisses forcefully, hard and fast and deep, and for a moment Will is completely still as he processes this, and then he wraps his arms around Ethan and responds so eagerly he almost falls off the bike.

Ethan chuckles into his mouth, moving back just enough for Will to be able to clamber off the bike before he’s pressing him close again, kissing him like he’s never going to get enough, like this is everything in the world he needs to keep him alive and food and water are for lesser mortals, like Will is the answer to every single question that Ethan has ever had and there is no one else who could ever have Ethan the way Will has him, so utterly _completely_ and _entirely_.

He doesn’t even realize that in his enthusiasm he’s lifted Will off his feet, not until he overbalances and topples over, Will coming crashing down on top of him. Not to be deterred, he just wraps his arms tighter around Will and rolls them over so that Will’s on his back, laughing helplessly into his shoulder as Ethan props himself up on an elbow over Will. “We fell,” he points out redundantly, his entire face pink with mirth.

“We did,” Ethan agrees, and then leans in for another kiss. “Please never stop laughing,” he requests when he comes up for air. “You’re so beautiful when you’re happy.”

Will smiles up at him, face flushed and lips kiss-swollen. “Only if you promise to never feel alone.”

“Couldn’t possibly, not with you,” Ethan points out, smiling warmly down at Will.

“Oh, _Ethan_ ,” Will says breathlessly, and wraps his arms around Ethan’s neck, bringing him down for a tight embrace that Ethan returns in kind, rolling them over again so that now they’re lying side by side.

“Where even are we?” Will asks, his face a bare inch from Ethan’s.

“A mustard field,” Ethan replies, reaching between them to pull up a crushed yellow flower. “Oops.” He grins sheepishly at Will.

Will takes it with no regard to its sorry state, laughing. “We should go, before there’s an angry farmer on our asses,” he says, but makes no move to get up.

“Let’s not, though,” Ethan says, closing his eyes and just reveling in the warmth of Will’s breath on his face. “Let’s stay here forever.”

“You said we have somewhere to be.” Will sounds amused.

Ethan opens his eyes and sighs. “Yes, we do,” he says, and gets to his feet, holding a hand out to Will. “And it is amazing. Although honestly, I am seriously tempted to just stay here and call it a day.”

“I’d love to, but.” Will points, and Ethan follows his hand, and sure enough, there is a dark figure in the distance, growing closer with every passing second.

“There’s our angry farmer,” Ethan says.

“And he’s got a pitchfork,” Will notes.

“Hey!” calls the Angry Farmer. “What the hell are you doing here?!!”

“Run?” asks Will, looking at Ethan, suppressing his laughter.

“Run,” confirms Ethan, and they both scramble for their helmets and towards the bike, not even stopping to dust themselves off. Will dissolves in laughter the moment they’re back on the road, and Ethan can’t help but join in as well.

“I feel kinda bad for him,” Will comments when he’s calmed down some. “We crushed his mustard.”

“Only a little bit, though, and for a _great_ cause,” Ethan says mock-seriously, and smiles when Will begins laughing again.

“So where to, now?” asks Will, once he’s done. He bends to retrieve their helmets from the ground, handing Ethan his helmet before strapping his own on. “How far is it?”

“Not too much,” Ethan replies, putting on his helmet and getting back on the bike. He waits till Will is seated behind him before starting the engine. “But I’d rather go slowly. We’re not in any hurry, you know.”

“All right,” Will says agreeably, and Ethan can tell that it’s taking Will considerable effort to hold himself back from asking too many questions or trying to needle the answer out of Ethan some other way. He smiles to himself.

Will leans into Ethan again once the bike is going, securing his arms around Ethan’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. Their helmets knock together and Ethan laughs. “Careful.”

“Stupid helmet,” mutters Will, just loud enough that Ethan can hear him. A few minutes pass by in comfortable silence, and Will watches the fields pass by, the wind singing around the roaring of the engine. Then he says, “I know you’re curious.”

“About what?” asks Ethan. Will could mean literally anything.

“About the box,” Will replies. “The one I got from my parents’ house. I know you’re curious about that.”

“Yes, I am.” There’s no point in denying it; he _has_ been feeling a burning curiosity to open it, see what’s in it that Will’s thought is worth saving from that wreck of a house, but he’s been restraining himself. It’s not his to open. It’s Will’s, and he trusts that Will is going to show it to him when he wants to.

“You want to know what’s in it that I would want to bring back,” Will states. “And if it’s so damn precious, why I didn’t bring it back before.”

“Yes,” Ethan repeats, “but I didn’t want to push. And of course I wasn’t going to open it without asking you.”

“Why didn’t you, then?” questions Will, his voice so soft Ethan can barely hear it. “Why didn’t you ask?”

“Because you were in no state to answer me,” Ethan replies truthfully. “Will – I know how hard it was for you, having to go back. And I know you needed your time to deal with it. I wasn’t going to pressure you about anything I didn’t need to. As far as I’m concerned, it can wait forever, as long as that’s what you want.”

Will doesn’t reply to that, and uneasily Ethan wonders if he’s said something wrong. Then Will hums thoughtfully, the vibrations coming from Will’s helmet to his through where they’re pressed together, and he relaxes a little.

They go along in silence for some more time, and Ethan can’t help but think about why Will isn’t saying anything, why Will’s even started this conversation if he’s not going to continue it. Then he tells himself that this is Will’s issue and it’s up to Will how he deals with it, and if all he needs from Ethan is his support, well, then, that’s one thing he will always have. Ethan’s not going to back Will into a corner about this, and while he may be curious as hell about the box, he’s content with never knowing, if that’s what Will wants.

Eventually the fields give way to emptiness, and the road under them turns to asphalt again. Up ahead in the distance, Ethan can see small squares that morph into buildings as they get closer. “Is this it?” Will asks him.

“No, not yet,” Ethan tells him, slowing the bike down a little. “Think of it as a rest stop.”

“I’m not tired,” Will says.

“Neither am I, but I do need to go to the bathroom,” Ethan replies. “And maybe we can have a snack or two, if you want.”

“What, you mean the gummy bears _weren’t_ going to be our lunch?” Will asks in mock-surprise.

Ethan snorts. “ _You_ can have them for lunch if you want, _I’ll_ have something normal to eat, thanks a lot. Just don’t complain to me when the dumb gummy bears give you diarrhea.”

“They don’t give me diarrhea,” Will informs him, freeing one hand to poke him in the side. “And they’re not dumb. You just don’t like them because of that one time in Kyoto.”

“We don’t talk about Kyoto,” Ethan all but hisses. “You _swore_ never to bring it up again!”

“Ethan, if I stuck to all my promises of not bringing things up, we’d have nothing to talk about,” Will points out. “Face it, you’ve got a dumb story attached with at least every single major city in the world, and if you weren’t so good at compartmentalizing you’d be dead of secondhand embarrassment already.”

“I don’t have a dumb story about Rio de Janeiro,” Ethan retorts. “And that’s just off the top of my head. I’m sure if I thought about it I could name you many cities where I didn’t do dumb stuff.”

“Wow, it must eat away at you,” Will says in an exaggerated tragic tone. “How do you sleep at night, knowing you haven’t done stupid shit in so many cities? I’m sure you’ll correct this unfortunate fact as soon as you can, anyway.”

“You know,” Ethan replies, “you’re not half as funny as you think you are.”

“Please, I’m hilarious,” dismisses Will. “You know I am. Or do you not remember Kathmandu, where my sense of humor saved the entire mission?”

“Of course I remember Kathmandu,” sighs Ethan. “I just don’t like thinking about the fact that our lives had once depended on the outcome of a _pun war_. Or that you turned out to be more accomplished at punning than _Benji_ , of all people.”

“So,” Will says, and there’s definitely a smug tone in his voice, “Reykjavik, Kyoto, Kathmandu… what else is there? Oh yes. Delhi. You remember Delhi?”

“Will, I will knock you off this bike, so help me,” warns Ethan, thanking whoever’s listening that Will can’t see how red he is under the helmet. “Delhi… seriously, Will, why would you even bring it up again?”

They’re in town now, cruising past department stores and Laundromats and general stores and diners and everything else that is the fabric of small-town society. Ethan pulls up into a gas station on the side of the road, shutting the engine off and saying, “All right, I’m going to buy gas, you get snacks. Also, if you ever mention Delhi again, I’ll divorce you.”

“No you won’t,” Will says happily, getting off the bike and talking his helmet off. “You _love_ me, you say it like fifty times a day. You just don’t like talking about Delhi because of that entire business with the rickshaw driver and the—”

“I’m getting a divorce,” Ethan says decisively, cutting across Will. “You can keep the house.”

Will snorts. “I’m taking the cars, _you_ keep the house.”

“Why should I suffer _and_ lose my cars?” demands Ethan, busying himself with filling up the tank.

“You wanted the divorce in the first place,” Will reminds him, beginning to walk towards the store to pay for the gas and get snacks.

Ethan just rolls his eyes in Will’s direction and continues pumping gas, trying his best to keep Delhi off his mind. Then he thinks that maybe he’s sort of overreacting, and threatening Will with divorce might not be the best thing to do, especially considering the week Will’s had and the fact that sometimes Will takes stupid shit to heart even though he knows that logically he shouldn’t. That, of course, makes Ethan feel like a bit of a dick, so that when Will comes back with a bag full of things to eat, Ethan all but grabs him and kisses the hell out of him.

“Not that that wasn’t nice,” Will says, once Ethan lets go of him, “but what—”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan interrupts regretfully. “I was just joking about the divorce thing, I didn’t really mean it—”

To his surprise Will just rolls his eyes. “I know you didn’t, you idiot,” he says, unzipping the backpack and putting the snacks into it. “Delhi isn’t a serious enough matter for you to get rid of me over. Now, if it were _Harare_ , on the other hand…”

“Will, I swear to God,” begins Ethan, immediately rethinking the divorce thing, but stops when Will begins laughing.

“That was almost too easy,” Will says, putting his helmet on, still laughing. “And I didn’t even start talking about Helsinki yet.”

“I’m getting on this bike and leaving without you,” threatens Ethan.

“Too late,” Will says, getting on it, “you can’t do anything about it now.”

Ethan heaves an exaggerated sigh, and then says, rather abruptly, “I love you.”

“I know,” Will replies, shifting to make space for Ethan on the bike.

“I know you know,” Ethan tells him, getting on and starting the bike up again. “Just reminding myself.”

Will pokes him in the side, making him squirm. “Asshole,” he says, but he’s laughing again.

They cruise along for some more time, going through the town and looking around even though really, there’s nothing to see. Ethan’s got the bike in second gear and they’re neither too fast nor too slow, and it’s nice. Occasionally Will points out something interesting he sees and Ethan comments on it, but mostly they just share a companionable silence, Will’s head resting over Ethan’s shoulder, neither caring that their helmets knock together annoyingly every now and then.

They leave the town behind not an hour after they entered it, the road under the wheels old asphalt and gravel. There is nothingness for a few miles, before that too gives way to fields again. Ethan goes up the gears now, and everything is replaced with the rush of the wind and the engine roaring, and Will humming, the last a low, pleasing undertone to what feels like the soundtrack of freedom.

“How much further?” asks Will sometime later. “I’m hungry.”

“We’ll be there soon,” Ethan replies, yelling to be heard. “If you want we can stop for food!”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Will says, and Ethan begins slowing down the bike.

It’s 1 in the afternoon now, the sun high above them. Will takes off his jacket along with his helmet when they disembark, and pushes the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. “Shit, it’s hot,” he comments, before taking a long drink of water from the bottle they’ve packed.

Ethan takes the bottle from him when he’s done, his own jacket and helmet slung over the bike along with Will’s. “Let’s ditch the jackets for a while,” he says. “We’ll ride for a while without them, and if it’s cold again we’ll just stop to put them on.”

Will nods at him, before surveying their surroundings. “Another field in the middle of nowhere,” he says. “What now?”

“We eat,” Ethan replies simply, grinning at him before unzipping the backpack. They sit down at the edge of the field, in the shade of the bike, and share their snacks, occasionally commenting about something or the other. When they’re finished, Ethan puts the empty wrappers back in the bag, and is making to get up again when Will says, seemingly out of the blue, “It’s just old things.”

Ethan blinks. “What?”

“In the box,” Will clarifies. “Stuff I’ve kept over the years. Things like my high school yearbook, some old pictures, things I had as a kid that I treasured. It’s nothing special, it’s no big deal, and yet I can’t make myself open the box.”

Ethan settles again, and places his hand on Will’s knee. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says. “It’s entirely up to you, okay? If you want to stuff the box in the back of the closet and forget it exists, all right. If you want to open it and take out the things in it, that’s also all right. It’s your decision, okay?”

“Yeah, I know.” Will exhales slowly. “I just feel really… I don’t know, like I’m being ridiculous about it. Like I should just shut the fuck up and get over myself, you know?”

“You’re not being ridiculous,” Ethan reassures him. “And don’t you dare think that shutting up about it will solve anything, Will. You’ve got me to talk to. I’m not going to think your problems are a burden, or that you’re being annoying or anything. You _know_ this. You _know_ I’m always going to be here for anything you want.”

Will offers him a small smile. “Yeah, I know,” he says. “Thank you.”

Ethan takes his hand off Will’s knee and wraps it around his shoulders instead, drawing him close. “I’m here for you whatever happens,” he promises. “No matter what.”

“I know,” Will repeats quietly, leaning into Ethan’s side. “I know.”

They sit there for some more time; Ethan’s not sure how long, and he doesn’t really care either. Will is quiet and so he doesn’t say anything either, just keeps Will close and waits for him to do or say something. Even if he doesn’t, that’s okay. Ethan’s there for him either way, he swore it and he has no intention of ever breaking that promise, come what may.

Eventually Will clears his throat, shrugs out from under Ethan’s arm and says, “Let’s get back on the road, then.” Ethan offers him a smile before following his lead and getting to his feet, only to be immediately engulfed in a warm hug. He wraps his arms back around Will and holds him close, not saying a word. Will is silent too, and for a minute or two they just take in the warmth, the reassuring, reliable closeness of the other.

It’s almost 2 when they set off again, but Ethan can tell Will feels a lot lighter, like a heavy weight’s slid off his back. He feels much the same way, knowing that slowly but surely, Will’s going to get over this. He’s going to bounce back, the way he always has, because nothing can drag him down and keep him there. He’s like Ethan in that regard – he is always going to find a way to get back on his feet, and Ethan loves the hell out of him for it.

They go on for at least two more hours. Ethan’s shifted up gears and there’s really no point to talking because they wouldn’t be heard anyway, not without screaming, and so they spend the time in silence, and Ethan takes the time to just… let it all in, appreciate it, memorize every single thing about this moment, from the wind and the engine’s roar to Will draped over his back, a solid, assuring warmth. He’s so quiet and uncharacteristically still that it takes Ethan some time to realize he’s fallen asleep right there, arms still wound around Ethan’s waist, head rested against his shoulder.

Ethan smiles to himself and slows down the bike, shifting down gears until his foot is skimming along the road as the bike slows to a halt by the side of the road. He steadies it with one foot on the ground, and grabs both of Will’s hands and wraps them tighter around himself. Will mumbles something and stirs, his hands grabbing on to Ethan’s and holding on tight.

“Hey,” Ethan says softly. “I kinda need my hands, you know.”

Will jerks into wakefulness. “What—oh,” he says, blinking. “I fell asleep.”

“Yes, you did,” Ethan tells him. “It was adorable, except I was scared you’d fall off.”

Will makes a face. “I’m not adorable. I’m dangerous. I’ve killed people.”

“Sure, honey,” Ethan says, very seriously. “Not adorable. Gotcha.”

“You’re mocking me,” accuses Will.

“Never,” says Ethan gravely, slipping one hand out of Will’s to place it upon his heart.

Will just glares sleepily, and Ethan can’t help it— “Are you even aware of how cute you look right now?”

“I’m not cute!” insists Will. “Puppies and babies are cute. If you’re gonna compliment me at least do it in a way that doesn’t take me back to my kindergarten days.”

Ethan laughs. “Do you even remember kindergarten?”

“Of course I do,” Will replies. “I was a very adorable child.”

“I’m sure you were,” Ethan says, and this time he means it. “Do you want to get back on the road?” he asks a moment later.

Will nods. “Okay. Though honestly, if we don’t talk I’ll just fall asleep again.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let that happen,” Ethan assures him. He waits till Will releases his other hand as well and secures his arms around Ethan’s waist again, before kicking off and getting back on the road.

“How long till we get there?” asks Will in a few minutes.

“Just around forty-five more minutes, I think,” Ethan replies. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Will tells him. “Just bored.”

An idea hits Ethan suddenly, and he asks, “What are your feelings about Bon Jovi?”

“Bon Jovi is awesome,” Will answers, sounding nonplussed. “Why?”

Instead of answering, Ethan just begins singing, voice low at first but getting louder as he gets more and more into it.

 _It’s all the same_  
Only the names will change  
Every day  
It seems we’re drifting away

“Oh!” Will exclaims, and then laughs. “Sure, why not?” he yells, before joining in.

 _Another day_  
Where the faces are so long  
I drive all night  
Just to get back home

 _I’m a cowboy_  
On a steel horse I ride  
I’m wanted  
Dead or alive

Their voices mesh together as they belt out the chorus as loud as they can, the words melting together so that Ethan can’t pick out which one is his voice and which is Will’s. All he knows is that he’s never felt this blissful, this light before, never felt like he could fly so high he’d never come back to earth because he’d never want to.

Will’s singing louder now, totally lost in the moment, and Ethan’s smiling so hard his voice sounds distorted, but he can’t help it. He’d live in this moment forever if he could.

 _AND I WALK THIS STREET_  
A LOADED SIX STRING ON MY BACK  
I PLAY FOR KEEPS  
‘CAUSE I MIGHT NOT MAKE IT BACK

 _I’VE BEEN EVERYWHERE, OH YEAH_  
AND I’M STANDING TALL  
I’VE SEEN A MILLION FACES  
AND I ROCKED THEM ALL

 _I’M A COWBOY_  
ON A STEEL HORSE I RIDE  
I’M WANTED  
WANTED  
DEAD OR ALIVE

They don’t stop even when the song ends; Ethan leads right into _Paradise City_ and Will follows, reading his mind like always, laughing as he sings, and Ethan never wants this day to end.

They reach their destination with their voices soar and throats hurting a bit – they made it through two Zeppelin songs, one AC/DC, a couple of Pat Benatar hits, and ended it with a loud, dramatic rendition of _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ , laughing so hard when they finish that Ethan has to wipe tears off his face after he takes his helmet off. Will’s laughing too, and he begins to say something, only to stop short when he takes off his helmet and sees where they are.

It’s a secluded spot by the side of a lake that’s so blue it’s dazzling, ringed by flowers and reeds and a few rocks here and there, as well as trees with cool shade and low-hanging fruit. It’s picture perfect, right down to the ducks on the lake and the schools of silvery fish visible just below the surface, and Will looks like he’s had his breath stolen right from his lungs.

“Do you like it?” asks Ethan, shutting off his bike and resting it on the stand. “I used to come here a lot, back when I was single. It’s a nice place to just be by yourself, but I figured it would be even better to share it with someone.”

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Will accuses, and he does sound breathless and awed. “It’s _gorgeous_.” He leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Ethan’s mouth, making him smile. “Let’s live here!”

“There’s no bathrooms,” Ethan points out, laughing. “And it’ll be pretty inconvenient, getting to work.”

“Screw work!” Will says happily. “And screw bathrooms. I’m not leaving this place _ever_.”

“Well, in that case you’ll be happy to know I brought a tent,” Ethan informs him, getting it from the bike and beginning to unpack it. “And a picnic mat. And food and water.”

“You’re the best,” declares Will with a wide smile, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m never going to bring up Delhi again, if you promise to bring me here at least once every month.”

Ethan laughs again, leaving the tent so he can hug him back. “What happened to living here?”

“Well, it’s impractical, like you said,” Will says, resting his head against Ethan’s shoulder. “But you know, I think we could make it work, if we really tried.”

“You’d be fine until you wanted coffee, and then you’d complain,” Ethan tells him, his hand slipping under Will’s shirt to rest at the small of his back, his thumb stroking small circles into the warm skin there. “And there’s not a Starbucks for miles and miles.”

“Pity,” sighs Will, closing his eyes and humming in pleasure at Ethan’s touch. “Though I can’t find it in me to complain at the moment.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Ethan replies with a snort.

They stay in the embrace for a few more minutes, quiet and content, occasionally exchanging lazy words and warm touches, and only break apart because Ethan remembers the tent and decides it’s going to more comfortable when they’ve got a place to sit and lie down. Will helps him set it up and then they unpack the food, taking their time eating as they sit side by side and watch the ducks, occasionally throwing them something and laughing as they all honk and clamor for it.

“Did you know ducks have penises?” Ethan says presently. They’re done eating and Will’s leaning against him, head on his shoulder as he looks out over the lake.

“What?” Will laughs. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Ethan replies, wrapping an arm around Will’s shoulders. “I read it on the Internet. They only come out in spring, though. They’re supposedly sixteen inches long.”

“Why do you know about duck penises?” inquires Will.

“I googled ducks,” Ethan tells him. “They freak me out when they get too close, I don’t know why. They’re all right when they’re far away, like they are now, but the minute they’re close enough for me to see their rapey little faces—”

“Hang on, what?” interrupts Will. “Rapey little faces?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” says Ethan darkly. “They use their unnaturally big dicks to rape the female ducks, who have this really complex vaginal duct so that they don’t get impregnated every time some asshole duck rapes them, and they can eject the semen from their bodies later.”

“I’m so disturbed, not only by this information but the fact that you know all this,” comments Will. “I feel like my life would have been just fine without all this knowledge, you know.”

“Well, now you know why ducks are freaky to me,” huffs Ethan. “My sixth sense is never wrong, okay.”

“I could write a book about all the times your sixth sense has been wrong, and I’ve had to talk some rationality into you,” Will retorts. “Or have you forgotten Beijing already?”

Ethan sighs. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Never,” confirms Will, grinning. “Well, not until you stop being a reckless idiot on missions, so basically never.”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you,” Ethan says, removing his arm so he can poke Will in the side, making him yelp and squirm. “You think you’re absolutely _hilarious_ , huh, Will?”

Will’s reply is lost in the fit of giggles he dissolves into when Ethan begins tickling him ruthlessly, refusing to let up until Will promises not to bring up any such mission until _absolutely necessary_ , or else start deciding which divorce attorney he’s going to hire. Will waits until Ethan stops, then moves out of his reach and begins listing off cities in a sing song voice, until Ethan’s forced to throw an empty can of soda at him.

It gets colder the closer it gets to sundown, so they clear up the stuff from dinner – Ethan had packed sandwiches and soda and even some pasta – and set up the tent, rolling out the sleeping bags Ethan also packed (Will expresses surprise at all of the arrangements, wondering how Ethan managed to fit so many things into one duffel. Ethan takes this opportunity to regale Will with the tale of that one time in Lahore when he hid three laptops on his person, as well as a mobile phone in his socks and an entire arsenal of weapons and ammo in just a backpack, all of which he was supposed to deliver to an ISI agent without appearing as if he was carrying anything more than a backpack. Will is suitably impressed). They watch the sunset together, sitting with their bodies pressed together shoulder to knee, their hands intertwined as they watch the sun go down.

“We should go swimming tomorrow, in the lake,” Ethan suggests as they get ready to lie down. They’ve decided to sleep in the open – the view of the star-filled sky is simply too beautiful to be wasted by sleeping in the tent, with a boring canvas roof instead of the beautiful navy velvet above.

“I thought you were afraid of the ducks,” Will says, getting inside his sleeping bag and lying on his side so he’s facing Ethan, who is already in his.

“I’m not _afraid_ , they freak me out,” Ethan points out, glowering. “There’s a difference.”

“Sure,” Will says with a snort. “But yeah, okay, we’ll go swimming,” he adds. “I’ll even protect you from the evil, rapey ducks.”

“My hero,” says Ethan solemnly, only his eyes giving away his mirth.

“Thank you,” Will says, after a few minutes of content silence filled with stargazing. “This is… it’s amazing. I can’t even tell you how much. I needed this, you know.”

Ethan reaches over to take Will’s hands and kiss his knuckles. “I know,” he replies softly. “I couldn’t take it, seeing you like that. It felt like someone stole you from me, even though you were right there.”

“It’s not going to happen again,” Will promises, his voice a shaky whisper. “I swear. I won’t let myself.”

“Even if it does,” Ethan says, “I’ll be there. I’ll always be there.”

“I know,” Will tells him. “I’d do the same for you. I always will. Even if you divorce me because I wouldn’t shut up about Bern.”

“Dammit,” sighs Ethan. “I thought you wouldn’t remember Bern.”

“I remember enough to tease you for the rest of your life,” Will says with a short laugh. “You really think something as inconsequential as a concussion can stop me from gathering blackmail material on you?”

“You’re terrible, you are,” sighs Ethan. “Absolutely horrible. 0/10, would not recommend.”

“Liar,” grins Will. “You’re holding my hand, you know. That kind of negates your statement.”

“It does, doesn’t it,” agrees Ethan. “I guess I do love you after all.”

“I guess you do,” laughs Will. “Why else would you put up with me and all my issues?”

“Because you do the same for me,” Ethan replies, abruptly serious. “You’re always there when I need you.”

“Of course I am,” Will says, sounding like the alternative is something so impossible he can’t even imagine it. “I’d rather die than not be.”

“Same,” says Ethan. “I’m glad I have you, you know. For a lot of things, but also because there’s finally someone I can share this place with. Someone I can share _everything_ with. It means more to me than I can tell you.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” Will says softly. “I know.”

“You always do,” Ethan replies, and kisses his hand again.

They fall asleep like that, under the stars and the vast sky, facing each other, fingers intertwined, bodies so close they can feel each other’s warmth even in sleep. They don’t have to set an alarm for the next morning, and Ethan doesn’t have to worry about losing Will, because he’s got him here now. They’re together, and that’s all that matters, all that’s ever going to matter, and it’s all they need and all they’re ever going to need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback please? Good things, bad things... they all go in the box below!
> 
>  
> 
> [This is Ethan's bike.](http://fm.cnbc.com/applications/cnbc.com/resources/img/editorial/2014/08/01/101887466-harley-davidson-dyna-low-ryder.530x298.jpg?v=1406905197)
> 
>  
> 
> Also. Reykjavik. I like to think Ethan tried to surprise Will with fireworks and ended up setting half a city block on fire. The HR department wasn't happy, and neither was PR, and Ethan got docked 25% of his pay for that mission, while Will laughed his ass off.
> 
> I was talking to Sanjana and Cody recently, and we had an idea - how about some kind of chat where we can all talk about this ship and let our inner trash kings and queens emerge, ya know? There's this pretty great app called Telegram, it's available for both iPhone and Android, and you can even use it on computer. You do need a phone number to sign up, but you don't have to give it out if you don't want to, you can just use a username. If you're interested, download the app and hit me up - my username is agent_brandt :)  
> If you already have a Telegram account and want to join up, you can do so by going [here](https://telegram.me/joinchat/BAK4QgbzvTjSS0NSFhmisw).
> 
> More info on the app can be found [here](https://telegram.org/).
> 
> ALSO, HOW ABOUT A GAME - comment and tell me which one of your OTP (other than Ethan/Will, could be any OTP) would be the one to surprise the other with fireworks but end up setting half a block on fire? You can also comment and give me theories on what you think happened in the cities I've mentioned Will teasing Ethan with :) 
> 
> Take care, guys <3 I love you all!
> 
> Remy x


	19. The Other Shoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're old, and they're not dead or dying, and Ethan's happy, except when he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never, right?
> 
> I'm sorry it's late, by the way. It's been a horrible few weeks - finals and personal problems and writer's block. Bad combination. I hope the chapter makes up for the delay.

It starts like this: Ethan takes Will out on a date to his favorite restaurant and talks to him and listens to him. Stares at him because he looks amazing. Smiles at him because he wants to. Thinks a lot about how he’s the luckiest man alive. Wonders how ten years passed them by and they both still get just a little bit awkward on dates like it’s high school all over again.

It starts like this: Ethan wakes up in the morning to find the other side of the bed empty, and without having to call out for him he knows Will is in the bathroom, brushing his teeth sleepily. Sits up in bed and hears Will call “Morning!” around a mouthful of mint-flavored toothpaste. Thinks about how Will just _knew_ he was awake. Gets out of bed and looks around for his slippers, and hears Will call to him again, “They’re under the bed where you put them last night!” Smiles because Will always knows what he wants.

It starts like this: Ethan looks up sometimes to find Will smiling at him, and he smiles back. Feels warm inside. Hears his voice even when he’s not speaking. Sees his face even when he’s not looking. Looks for him everywhere when they’re apart. Reaches for him to assure himself he’s never far. Touches him just to remind himself he’s real, even though it’s been ten years and nothing is realer than Will is. Loves him because it feels like there is nothing else in the universe other than this.

And just like that, ten years have come and gone. Ethan cries a little when it happens. Will just smiles and leans against him and takes his hand. They spend the day alone at home, because they _have_ a home. And each other. Someplace to go to at the end of the day. Somewhere to build a life. Because they can, and they have, and it’s so much more than either expected they would get.

* * *

 

When Ethan is fifty-six a mission goes bad and he ends up as a hostage, and he’s pretty sure he’s fucked until Will comes in, guns blazing and cursing loudly, to his rescue, and mows down everyone in his path that’s stopping him from getting to Ethan. He gets himself shot in the right knee in the process, and Ethan ends up having to rescue him back, carrying him away in his arms and trying to get in a soothing word between Will’s loud swearing.

His kneecap is shattered and can’t be saved, and he’s always going to walk with a limp, and he’ll probably never run like he used to, or kick like he used to. Ethan is bothered a lot by this and blames himself for a solid ten minutes before Will rolls his eyes and tells him to cut the shit, they both know that Will would take a thousand bullets for him and that he’d do it for Will, so quit the moping, Ethan, it’s not a good look on you, babe.

And Ethan grins and does as his much wiser husband tells him to, but deep down the feeling doesn’t go away. Will isn’t even half as upset about it as Ethan is – he just shrugs, and says, “Well, I guess that means no more field work. Would’ve had to quit someday anyway, might as well be today,” and asks the doctor to notify the Director and the Secretary. Then he claps Ethan on the shoulder, and says, “Come on, then, let’s go home. I’m tired.”

He may not be able to walk properly or run or kick, but he can still drive, and he does so, and he does it as calmly and safely as he always has, and Ethan wonders why he’s not letting his emotions on the matter show. He watches Will for the next few weeks as Will gets used to walking with a limp, to getting tired more easily than before, to sitting down every now and then to rest his bad leg. He’s the one who winces when Will lets out a tiny pained noise during sex one time, because his knee doesn’t appreciate the stress placed on it and informs him thus. Will just waits for the pain to abate and then bids Ethan carry on like nothing’s happened, and Ethan does, but underneath the surface the thought still waits like stagnant, moss-green lakewater, just getting worse the longer it’s left to fester.

Will carries on with his duties as an analyst, but makes the long walk to Ethan’s office less and less, since it tires him out. So Ethan comes to him, and they still have lunch together and talk about work and their colleagues, and Ethan’s glad that at least that hasn’t changed. Benji, Jane and Luther are nothing but supportive, but they don’t have to live with this like Ethan does – with the knowledge that every step Will can’t take is on him, is because of him.

But Will never lets on that he’s anything less than Zen as fuck about the entire situation – he rests his leg the exact time the doctor says, takes the pills the doctor gave him, sleeps with a pillow under his knee to keep it relaxed, doesn’t put undue stress on it. Still drives carefully like he always has, still joins Ethan for their daily evening walk around the neighborhood, still exercises as much as he can, and basically manages to reshape his entire life around his knee like it’s no big deal and just another thing he has to live with.

It takes Ethan almost a year to accept that maybe Will really is okay with it. In the meantime he doesn’t go on any missions, not even when Benji, Jane and Luther have to take someone else into the team to make up for his and Will’s absences. He loves the field and he loves his job, but he loves Will more and besides, he doesn’t think he wants anyone else by his side anymore. There’s no one he trusts to watch his back, not like he trusts Will.

It takes Ethan another six months to be okay with it himself, but when he finally gets to that point, he hands in his resignation from field work. It’s just as well, too – his own eyesight’s begun to deteriorate and as a result his aim isn’t as good as it should be. And there’s also the very real risk of throwing out his back if he does anything strenuous.

His yearly physical shows as much, and Will laughs and laughs and laughs, and Ethan would be annoyed but Will’s eyes are bright and his face is glowing and he sounds genuinely amused and Ethan would give up anything in the world to be able to hear that sound. When Will’s done, he says, tears running down his cheeks from mirth, “Ethan, love, face it. We’re growing old.”

Ethan sighs, and says, “Well, I suppose it was inevitable. That still doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he adds, and Will dissolves into laughter once more, though Ethan really doesn’t think it’s that funny.

Will’s the one who picks out the frame for his brand new glasses, and he chooses something tasteful and elegant and graceful, and even though Ethan hates them, he wears them anyway because every time Will sees him in glasses he grins like it’s something hilarious to imagine Ethan finally aging at the rate of mortal humans. Oh, and he really can’t see that well without them, so he doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. He figures it’s karma getting him back for all the times he laughed at Will’s reading glasses.

He figures he can live with his bad eyesight and aching back, if Will can live with his bad leg. He figures he can live with it, because he no longer feels the need to fill a void in his life with adrenalin rushes and danger. Every part of him is already saturated with everything of Will’s.

* * *

 

When Ethan turns sixty he finally gives up on trying to keep his hair its natural dark color, and accepts the gray beginning to creep in. He grows it long again, like it used to be when he met Will, and he briefly flirts with the idea of a goatee to go with it, but Will says that if he grows one he’ll go from looking like a distinguished gentleman to a pseudointellectual douchebag. “Sorry,” he says, trying to muffle a grin. “You just have that kind of face. Just… no beard, please? Promise me?”

And Ethan promises, because he’s a sucker for every word that falls out of Will’s mouth. He kisses that mouth, and says against Will’s lips, “Promise,” and smiles. He never thought he’d live long enough to even get gray hair, much less accept it and think about how he’s going to wear it. He never thought he’d have someone to grow old with, much less tell him how his age suits him (or not, as it were).

Sometimes he still waits for the other shoe to drop.

* * *

It drops, but not for him. Or Will. It drops for Luther, who dies in an explosion just outside of Kiev. Ethan vomits when he hears, and Will cries for days. Jane is inconsolable, and Ethan knows she’s thinking about Hanaway all over again, and he wonders how she can bear it. Benji shuts himself in his apartment and doesn’t speak to anyone for a week.

They all cry at his funeral, and afterwards everyone, including Will, gets wasted and talks about him and the kind of person he used to be. Ethan wonders if this is how life goes – you get old, and then your friends die, and eventually you die. And he looks over at Will, who’s nodding somberly to something Zhen is saying, and suddenly he’s overcome with the urge to hold him and hide him in his arms, to protect him from mortality and illness and age, from everything that could ever hurt him or take him away where Ethan couldn’t follow.

Instead he just takes Will’s hand and squeezes it, and kisses him and prays he lives forever.

* * *

The shoe also drops for Declan, who loses his right leg to a mine in a war-torn country, and comes home for the last time, never to leave again. He gets a prosthetic fitted and gets a good prognosis, and Zhen also leaves field work for him, but he never really manages to make his peace with it, not like Will has, not like Ethan has.

* * *

The shoe drops for Director Brassel when he dies of a heart attack, and it drops for Declan and for Luther and for more than half the people Ethan knows, and he wonders how long it is before it’s his turn. He never says this out loud to Will, and Will, who always knows, never brings it up either. But he has his ways of reassuring Ethan, and he holds him and kisses him and squeezes his hand and reminds him, with his gestures and smiles, that there’s always a little bit of life left to live between _now_ and _whatever comes after_.

Ethan lives for that little bit of life he gets to share with Will.

* * *

Benji falls in love, and after a brief, tempestuous affair, back out again, but they assure him and tell him it’s okay, better late than never, he’ll find someone else again. He’s aging a lot better than the rest of them, doesn’t look a day over fifty, and Ethan both envies him and is glad for him.

They consider getting Jane to go out again, to go on dates and find someone to spend her time with, but after Hanaway, after Luther, she’s done, she says. “I can’t take it,” she tells them over coffee at Ethan and Will’s one evening, the three of them sitting out in the fresh evening air in the back yard, where Will’s growing sunflowers and Ethan’s attempting to grow tomatoes. “It’s a double-edged sword, this job,” she says, and she sounds incredibly tired, and older than she is. “Either I end up with a civilian who will never be all right with what I do, and I have to lie to them and worry about them – or with someone who can die any time.” She sighs, pushes silky salt and pepper hair out of her eyes. “I can’t do that anymore. I don’t have it in me to go through it all over again.”

Ethan considers her words, and nods. “Yeah,” he says, thinking of Julia, even though it’s been decades. Then he thinks of Will, and his bad knee. “Yeah,” he says again, grateful that at least they’re both alive, knees and eyes and backs notwithstanding. They’ve got their lives, and each other, and it’s more than what most people have.

Benji never falls back in love, a fact he would be miserable about if it wasn’t for Jane’s offer for the two of them to just give up and get a place together, and live out the rest of their days playing video games and fighting over who finished the breakfast cereal. Declan jokes that they might as well get married, at which he receives twin looks of incredulity from both Jane and Benji. “Gross,” declares Jane, and Benji says, “She’s like my sister!”

Declan goes red, and Zhen laughs and laughs and laughs.

* * *

So Jane and Benji get a place together, and everyone helps them move in – except for Declan, who is a lazy little shit and just sits in a corner, bossing them around, saying “I’m missing a leg!” whenever someone asks him why he’s not helping. Everyone knows that his prosthetic leg is a miracle and functions almost better than a real one, and that he’s been known to be deadly with it despite not being a field agent anymore, but they let him have his little joke until he grows bored, wanders into Benji’s room where he’s struggling with a mattress, and asks casually, “D’you want help with that?”

Benji and Jane have a little housewarming party in their yard, after sundown, the air fresh and clean and carrying the smell of barbecue and freshly mown grass and the flowers Jane planted when they bought the place and that are finally starting to bloom. Will and Ethan are arguing over a grill in one corner, Will holding a skewer and gesticulating wildly while Ethan ducks and dodges to avoid being impaled. Zhen and Benji are at the table that’s been set up in the middle of the yard; they’re arm-wrestling, and even though Benji’s gotten stronger over the years, Zhen still manages to kick his ass. Declan is fiddling with an AUX cable and his mobile phone, trying to get it to work and not managing anything more than irritating bursts of whiny static. And Jane is recording it all on her phone, along with a running commentary.

Finally Will finishes making his point and sets the skewer down, and Ethan heaves a sigh of relief and begins putting shish kebab on the grill, telling Will, “See, the best way is to have it slightly overdone on the outside and soft on the inside—”

“That means it’s _raw_!” bursts out Will. “And besides, burnt food gives you an increased risk of cancer—” and the argument begins anew.

Declan gets the AUX working, and Will’s angry postulating is drowned out by the sound of loud classic rock. He settles for grumpily shoving Ethan out of the way so he can do the shish kebabs himself, and to keep Ethan busy he hands him a steak and tells him to deal with that. Ethan sighs, inaudible over the music, and puts the steak on the grill, all the while glaring at Will, who’s coolly ignoring him.

“Idiots,” says Jane wisely into her mobile phone as she records it all. “Living proof that age does not correlate to wisdom. If anything, the older they get the stupider they become.”

Ethan throws the empty bottle of lighter fluid at her. She dodges, laughing. “She’s not wrong,” mutters Will, and Ethan looks around for something he can throw at Will. His search is cut short when Will yells, “TURN THE STEAK OVER BEFORE IT BURNS, IDIOT!”

Ethan grumbles but obeys, and Jane laughs again, her point having been successfully proven.

* * *

“We’re getting old,” Declan says, after dinner. They’ve relocated to the living room for drinks and coffee, having cleaned up the yard and put the leftovers away. The TV is running in the background but no one is paying much attention to it. “Look at us. We’re having a housewarming barbecue like a – like a bunch of suburbanites.” He says the last word like it’s a particularly nasty curse word, and Zhen laughs.

“It’s not that bad, is it, though?” she says, lying down and placing her feet in Declan’s lap, prodding at him with her big toe. “I mean. We’re all alive.”

A somber silence follows her words; the weight of Declan’s missing leg, Will’s bad knee, Ethan’s bad back, every person that Jane’s lost, and even the shrapnel scars all over Benji’s left side seems to bear down on them. Benji is the only one of them left who’s still working, but he seems tired of it as well.

Then Will says, “Alive is better than nothing, though. And I don’t know about you guys, but.” He shrugs. “Old is better than dead.”

“Speak for yourself,” mutters Ethan, pushing his glasses up his nose, but he’s grinning.

“You’re mortal,” Will tells Ethan gravely. “I’m so sorry you’re the same as everyone else.”

“Oh, shut up,” grumbles Ethan, and elbows Will, but then they’re all laughing. “Didn’t think I’d get this far, though,” he admits when there’s a lull in the laughter. It’s somewhat freeing to say it out loud, to the group of people who have always been with him and have the same limitations he does. “Thought I’d die on the job.”

“We all thought that,” says Jane. “Some of us did.” Hanaway and Luther’s absence looms over them.

“But most of us didn’t,” replies Benji quietly. “And that’s got to count, right? It’s got to count for something.”

“It counts a hell of a lot,” Declan says. He raises his cup of coffee in a toast. “To those we lost,” he says, “and those we didn’t.”

They drink to that.

* * *

“I’m glad,” says Ethan when they get home and he’s undressing. Then he pauses; it feels like there’s something stuck in his throat that won’t let him complete his sentence.

“Hi, Glad,” Will replies deadpan from the bed, where he’s already settled in. “I’m Will.”

Ethan grabs a cushion off the bed and throws it at Will, who catches it. “Terrible,” he laments. “It’s been _decades_ , and your jokes are still terrible.”

“I’m hilarious,” Will informs him, an eyebrow raised in mock affront.

“No, you’re not.”

“Whatever you say, Glad.”

The thing in his throat dissolves; Ethan says, brought back to the topic by Will’s reiteration of the joke, “I’m glad that it’s you.” When Will looks confused, he clarifies, “That I’m growing old with. I mean, I’m glad it’s you I’m growing old with.”

Will smiles at him. “Me too,” he says. “I’m glad too.”

“Hey, Glad, I’m Ethan,” he smirks, and it’s Will’s turn to throw the cushion at him.

* * *

The other shoe still doesn’t drop, and Ethan’s stopped expecting it to. Maybe they’re allowed this, to grow old with each other and crack terrible jokes and throw cushions and fight over the proper way to barbecue kebabs. Maybe they’re allowed to live a life that doesn’t include explosions and gunfire and blood and death.

They’ve earned it, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of me wants to end it here, and part of me wants a final chapter, an epilogue of sorts. I'm still not decided yet, but just in case this is the last chapter, I just want to say:
> 
> What an amazing, _amazing_ ride this has been. I never thought I would ever complete this, but yet here we are, over a year later. Some of you have been reading this from the beginning, and some of you started later on, but every single one of you has been here for me in their own way, encouraging me to continue, to write more, to challenge myself creatively and imaginatively and finally, bring this story to an end. I love every single one of you, for everything. I honestly can't even express how I'm feeling right now - this story has been my child for the past couple of years and it's honestly so bittersweet to let it go.
> 
> So thank you all - for your kudos and your comments, for your kind words and encouragement, and for your friendship. It means a lot to me and has honestly been the best part of writing this story. I'd like to give special thanks to Sanjana, Cody, Delfe, Ivy, Kami, and Sigma, for being my friends and making me smile when I'm down, and for always being ready to scream about these idiots. I love you guys <3333
> 
> So, um, that's it, I guess. I've never been good with goodbyes and that sort of thing, and also I suck at letting things go, so if I do end up posting another chapter, let's pretend this long heartfelt note came with that, yeah? Yeah.
> 
> Fun fact- this fic is just slightly longer than the third Harry Potter book, if we're going by word-count. I feel strangely proud of myself.
> 
> Take care everyone; I love you all <3<3<3  
> Remy x


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